The Long Road Home
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: "Daryl?" Her fingers reached thoughtlessly for the rounded firmness of his shoulder before she remembered and snatched them away. It wasn't like it used to be, and some cruel part of her wondered if it had ever really been anything at all. Still, he found her. He always did. Caryl, set two years after the events of 4.08.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead does not belong to me.**

**A/N: This takes place two years after the events of 4.08 and contains spoilers through that episode. I suppose it could also be considered non-canon compliant after that point. This one's been haunting me since Carol drove down that road.**

**The Long Road Home**

* * *

Two years.

Two years since she'd blown past Rick while rotting leaves scattered in her wake. Two years of pushing and starving and surviving and nothing at all that could be called living.

Two years of trying to forget. Trying not to look over her shoulder. Trying not to look for _him_. Two years of failing at that most difficult of simple tasks.

_"Daryl?"_

Two_ years_ of it, and there he stood with his blood cooling rapidly on her shaking palm.

* * *

The abrupt pounding startled Carol from sleep. They told her there was one that needed fixing up just inside the gate. As she rubbed exhaustion from her eyes and wrenched her feet into filthy boots, they cautioned that she should watch herself with this one. That he'd fought some coming in. That he hadn't taken kindly to the removal of his weapons. She'd shrugged into her coat and made her way across the courtyard. Their few buildings shimmered in the firelight.

The man had sought entrance at the gate like so many of them did. Refugees. Survivors. There for a week or maybe a night. Some only until they took their last living breath. He stood flanked by two of the men from the outer camp. Stripped of his bolts with an impotent crossbow on his back, he stood with a bowed head in the dimming light.

Alan, who had hold of the stranger's left arm, gave it a sudden jerk. With a scowl and a reactive hiss, Daryl lifted his head.

He was thinner. Still muscled beneath that ancient poncho, but thinner and somehow more worn. A few more streaks of gray revealed themselves in his parted hair, and she wondered absently how he'd come to have that scar high up on his cheek, just below where the blood trickled from his scuffle minutes before.

The image swam in a pool of unbidden tears, but there was no mistake. The way her stomach lurched at his gaze told her it was him.

"It's alright. I know him." To her, the words sounded far away.

Alan eyed the other men warily, but didn't move. Carol swallowed and tried to force the sound. "Let go."

"You sure, Carol?"

She nodded, no longer trusting her voice, and at last they were left alone beneath the moon. Daryl continued staring at her with an unreadable expression. She needed to know that this was real. Needed to know it wasn't just another phantom appearing in the night. Her fingers reached out thoughtlessly for the rounded firmness of his shoulder before she remembered and abruptly snatched them back.

It wasn't like it used to be. Some cruel part of her wondered if it had ever really _been_ anything at all. Wondered if the memory of _maybe_ was just a twisted joke to doomed to rise with all her other ghosts.

They'd banished her. Rick had banished her. And she'd gone without a fight. Despite what she wished, there was nothing to say that this would be a happy reunion.

And there they stood, frozen. She stopped being aware of the cooling night air. Ceased to hear the crackle of the fires or the low murmur of voices in the makeshift outer camp. The shadows of the old college buildings surrounding them crept longer in the moonlight. Everything around Carol seemed to swirl to a stop.

And then, he moved. In agonizing increments, he reached forward. Keeping his body still, he placed one hand feather light against her neck. Her pulse rocketed beneath his shaking touch.

His fingers closed, then clenched too sharply against her skin. A moment later, he sprang forward, pulling her toward him at the same time. Their bodies met, knocking the air from her lungs. At the impact, he let out a percussive breath that sounded almost like half a sob.

It lasted only for a moment. As suddenly as it began, he stepped away and replaced her harshly at arm's length. His expression darkened. The hand that had seized her neck so desperately slid down her arm and lingered just for a moment at her fingertips before pulling away.

Her own fingers begged to follow their gentle warmth.

The tears that had threatened earlier slipped over the edge, and he watched without emotion as they dampened her skin.

Carol opened her mouth to speak, but was forced to swallow harshly when the words wouldn't come. Gulping in the night air, she forced out the only word that she could. "How?"

A twisted pull of pain crossed his face in the shadows of the firelight, and she wondered if her earlier instincts to draw away had been correct. Filled with the weight of that heavy burden, she lowered her head. It was only then that he finally spoke.

"We looked for you." The words were barely a whisper, so soft she wasn't sure she'd even heard.

"What?"

He scuffed one tattered boot against the ground. "We looked for you. You was just _gone_."

Daring a glance, she felt her heart twist at the anguish in his eyes. She watched him scuff at the ground again, then take a few stumbling, faltering steps to the side. "Daryl?" She stepped forward in alarm, attempting to steady his shoulder. He hissed at her touch and jerked away.

Her hand, she realized, was warm with blood.

"You're bleeding," she murmured. She'd patched him up plenty of times, but this - this was different. Here he was standing before her. Two years later, here he stood with his blood cooling rapidly on her shaking palm.

"It's nothin'." He avoided her eyes.

"You can barely stand."

He fought down an aching, painful cough. "Just need some rest."

A thought, unlikely as it may be, ripped through her like a current of icy water. "You're not -"

He cut her off. "Ain't a bite." Scowling, he lowered his eyes. "Was just gonna get patched up and move on."

_Move on._ Something like panic rose in her lungs. "You can't just..." She trailed off and took a faltering step back. She'd forgotten how it was. Collecting herself, she began again. "We have a clinic. Just in that building. Come on." She offered her arm, more out of some long forgotten habit than anything else. He stared at it for a moment like it was a threat. She lowered it, empty, to rest at her side.

Still, he followed her through the night. The ancient brick buildings loomed before them, their gaping shadows made larger in the dying light.

* * *

Prying open the door to what once must have been an office of sorts, Carol motioned him inside and gestured to a scarred wooden desk that served both as exam table and instrument tray. "Have a seat over there." She lit a lamp and tried not to watch as he removed the crossbow from his back and placed it reverently on the floor. Tried not to wince as he struggled to hoist himself onto the desk. He was worse than she thought, and she found herself uneasy at the sight.

He watched her through his bangs as she readied her supplies. An uneasy silence drifted into the space between them, and Carol found her neck burning under the heat of his gaze. The skin there still remembered the rough tug of his fingers from minutes before. Busying herself with the gauze and antiseptic, she readied a tray. After straightening the supplies for the third time, she found she had to turn.

She moved to him slowly and handed over a clean towel. "Put this over your eye." He did as she asked. "Let's just see if we can lift up the..." She trailed off as he pulled back the poncho himself to reveal the wound just beneath his shoulder. His face contorted as it pulled against the tacky blackened blood. The air left Carol's lungs a little too fast.

Biting her lip, she cautiously reached out to assist him. "What happened?" Her words sounded muffled even in the silent room.

"Knife." His eyes flitted away from hers as soon as they'd landed. "Had it almost healed. Tore it open again 'bout a day ago and couldn't get it to stop. Them boys by the gate didn't exactly help." He removed the cloth from his head. Placing it at his side, he began studying the old desk chair across the room as though trying to memorize every detail.

"Policy is no weapons," and the explanation sounded a feeble apology even to her own ears. He didn't bother to respond.

She inhaled to ask him again about the wound, but found herself biting her lip instead. Probing the gash with delicate fingers, she accepted that he'd said what he would on the subject. As gently as possible, she wiped away some of the blood.

"It was deep." He grunted in agreement, but remained tensely still under her touch. At last she'd had her fill. "Just needs cleaned and a few stitches," she observed.

Nodding wordlessly, he continued his inspection of the chair, only daring to let his eyes cross her form when she turned away for the thread. He watched her precise movements, the sure way she reached for the different drawers, her easy steps across the room.

"You do this a lot?"

"What's that?" She rifled through a drawer in search of sterile needles.

"This." His head tilted toward his wound. "Here."

She was silent for a moment before daring to respond. "We all have our jobs here." Her fingers finding their prize, she chose to keep her gaze on the scarred wooden desk as she uttered the words. "There's no doctor...I do what I can."

When he didn't respond, she summoned her strength and returned to his side. "Probably going to hurt. We've got all the basics, but we save the pain killers for the worst of the worst."

He almost huffed an empty laugh. "Can manage."

Carol fought the smile that threatened her lips. "Yeah, I'll bet you can." She swallowed and shook her head, blinking to clear her eyes. "Hold still."

Deep as it was, it didn't take long to stitch him back up. True to his word, he managed, and if her hands shook a little more than usual at the task, he never let on that he noticed. When the last bandage had been applied to his shoulder, she stepped back. "All done." A tight smile stretched her lips.

He nodded. "Thanks." His eyes dared to find hers, just for a minute. A jolt ran through her at the sight.

"You're welcome," she managed. Replacing the supplies, she turned to find him still seated on the desk. She took in his tired eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, features only magnified in the sickly yellow light of the lamp. "When was the last time you ate?"

He shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled uncomfortably at his stitches. "Been a while," he admitted, his head falling lower on his shoulders. "Food's harder to come by this time a year." She noticed, again, how worn he looked.

"Where were you headed?" She was almost ashamed of the question from the moment that she asked. She had no right, no claim to know.

He eyed her with a look of surprise.

Her hands fumbled as she clumsily folded a towel. "You said you were just going to get patched up and move on. Just wondered where you were going." She hoped the words didn't echo the desperate clawing sensation in her chest.

He continued watching her, his features carefully guarding his spiraling thoughts. Inscrutably he muttered, "Didn't know where." This all-consuming search had come to an abrupt end, and he realized with terror it may have been for naught. He'd searched. Everywhere. And now that he'd found her, nothing played out like he'd thought in those brief moments he'd allowed himself something like hope.

"You were out there alone?" She cringed inwardly at the unspoken question present in the words. She couldn't ask about the rest.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He looked at her with a weary gaze that told her more than she'd wished to know. "Just how it was." Silence, and he offered nothing more.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any right to ask." She placed the towel she'd been worrying on the desk. His silence cut her deeper than she'd like. But of course she had no right to know. She swallowed back the burning in her throat. "You should stay here a while." The words were out of her mouth before she could even consider the thought. His head jerked toward her quickly before falling back to its earlier posture, but his eyes remained vigilant beneath the cover of his hair. "I mean..." Carol's fingers plucked nervously at the fabric of her sweater. Pinpricks of tears threatened again. "You can't go back out there." She swallowed. "You're hurt. You need to rest. Stay here."

It was all so much, so very fast. He'd been almost certain, almost positive that she was dead. He'd heard Merle's voice in his head calling him a fool for that little bit of _maybe_ that somehow remained. But here she was. And she didn't even_ know_.

So much, too fast. His chest constricted painfully and he fought for air through the achingly familiar tightening sensation in his lungs. He coughed and pulled in what breath he could in wheezing, sharpened gasps. He clenched his fingers into fists until it passed.

His gaze returned to the chair when his chest calmed. He couldn't stand her worried eyes. "I know how it is here," he began. "Places like these. Contribute or leave." The law was known for shelters like this. They were few and far between, but any that lasted did so by a hard and fast rule. Either contribute to the good of the many, have a damn good reason why you couldn't, or get the hell out of the way. He gestured to his shoulder. "Not much good right now."

"You will be." Carol stepped forward, coming to stand within inches of his knees. He fought the strange pull he felt to touch her white hand. "And we have the clinic for a reason. Stay here until you're well. Stay here until..." Her voice gave out, and she drew in a shaky breath to steady herself. She found herself dizzy in the closeness of the room. "Just stay a while. Then...then you can decide."

He brought one hand to his mouth to worry the skin of his thumb. _Decide_. Decide what? Decide that he'd been wrong about whatever the hell he'd been searching for? Decide he'd be better off alone? He knew better than that, at least he did now.

"Stay a while," she repeated. "Please."

His head throbbed as the moments passed. Finally, he sighed. "'Kay."

Relief flooded through her at the simple syllable. "Okay," she repeated, biting her lip to keep its trembling at bay.

Rousing herself, she gestured to the next room where three beds, neatly made up in patched sheets and threadbare quilts, stood vigil until their time of need. "You can take one of these tonight."

He shook his head. "Don't need no sickbed. Be fine in the outer camp." He'd passed it when they'd let him in. In the darkness, he's seen enough to know that most of the settlement was enclosed by a makeshift wall. Just outside the gate and protected by a less sturdy fence was a temporary camp - a slight refuge from what was beyond.

"Not with that cough. You just about passed out on me once. Stay here. At least for now."

He made a motion to protest, but the idea of a night indoors, a night in what passed for warmth and without the ever-present threat of a walker attack stopped him. He ached with exhaustion. Had lived with the numbing pain for more time than he could recall. He nodded slightly, and the look of pure relief on Carol's face warmed him some more.

"In through there," she pointed through the room with the beds. "There's a little bathroom." He winced as he slid off the desk to follow her. "Just a sink and the water's cold - don't drink it. It needs to be boiled, but you can get cleaned up a bit if you want. Take any of the beds - no one else here right now so it'll be quiet. I'll head over and see what's left to eat. Bring you back a plate. If you need any..." She realized she'd been on the verge of babbling. Turning to look at him, she took in his tired eyes, his bent form, and the lines etched across his face. She felt her own shoulders fall as the breath seemed to be drawn away and out of her lungs. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

He watched her then, and she got the feeling that he'd somehow realized her question had more than face value. Was he okay? It had been so long since he thought he was that he wasn't even sure how to respond. Was he okay? He'd spent practically two years on the road chasing after every last ghost of a chance of finding her, and now here she was standing before him. Alive. Warm. Well. Offering to get him food and hinting not so subtly that he needed a bath.

"Gotta be, don't I?"

This time, she didn't hide the tears at the familiar words. Inhaling through a quiet sob, she had to ask. "You'll be here when I get back, right?"

He nodded, eyes glittering in the light of the lamp.

She found some peace in the gesture, and with a light brush of her fingers against his arm, she passed by him and slipped out the door.

* * *

Returning a short time later, she found him already asleep, huddled more than stretched on one of the beds with an ancient quilt pulled haphazardly up to his chest.

Setting down the plate of cooling food, she watched him. After a moment, she removed an extra blanket from atop another bed and smoothed it over his sleeping form. She tugged off his worn boots and placed them by the bed. Wheeling over what once was an office chair, she sat next to him and studied the rise and fall and _nearness_ of his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am overwhelmed by your kind words for this story. Thank you so very much for the encouragement. It means more than I can say. There are a few more chapter-specific notes at the end of this section. I hope you enjoy.**

**The Long Road Home**

* * *

Waking from a restless sleep with a sudden jerk, Carol found the first rays of the morning sun already creeping in through the grime of the clinic window. From the next room came the familiar shuffle and scrape of the door to the outer hall being coaxed into opening. As she blinked into awareness, one hand automatically reached to massage her neck, the office chair she'd slept in off and on throughout the night not having done it any favors. Lying before her on the bed, Daryl looked much as he had the night before when she'd returned from finding him some food. Worn. Thinner. Huddled under a blanket and still dead to the world.

He'd been that way more or less all through the night. Apart from the too frequent coughing spells, he hadn't moved much at all. She'd forced him to turn on his side and slid extra pillows under his back in an attempt to ease the wheezing from his lungs. It worried her more now than it had at first, but Daryl remained seemingly oblivious and somehow still sound asleep through every choking fit. She only worried more at his exhaustion.

Knees popping as she rose from the chair, Carol moved to intercept their new arrival before her usual morning bustling could wake him. Ali was, for all practical purposes, Carol's assistant. Together they were charged with keeping track of the settlement's meager medical supplies and dealing with whatever injuries or illness came their way. It was assumed Carol would take the lead, but she found day by day that the girl was more than capable of holding her own. She'd been in nursing school - just barely - when it all had started, and to her credit hadn't shied away from doing what she could. Between the two of them they saved more than they lost, if you didn't count the ones already doomed from a bite.

With one more squeeze to her aching neck, Carol moved toward the outer office door. Ali nudged the door shut behind her and looked up, all long blonde hair and wide-eyed smiles. Sometimes, in those moments when she seemed so much younger than her twenty-two years, she reminded Carol of... But she pushed those moments almost desperately off to the side. Buried them carefully with the rest of her shadows.

"You stay here all night?" Ali's drawl was deep, but her voice soft and surprised as she cautiously angled her head around the corner. The chair by his bed gave Carol away.

She nodded, still trying to work the kinks out of her neck.

"We have a new arrival?" The blonde unwrapped an oversized coat from her tiny frame.

Carol nodded. "Yeah," she answered through a scratchy throat. It was cold in the clinic and painfully dry.

Ali took a few soft steps toward the room where Daryl still slept. Carol drifted in behind her and leaned against the door frame.

"And you stayed here all night?"

Again, Carol nodded, wondering how many times they'd have this conversation.

"You could have come to get me. Or sent someone. You didn't have to do the whole shift on your own." Ali peered down at Daryl's form in an attempt to figure out his injuries. She squinted at the bruise blooming over his eye. "Is he bad off?"

"He'll be alright."

Ali eyed her with a questioning stare, but Carol's gaze fell only on the sleeping man before them.

"Then why-"

"I know him," Carol admitted quietly before Ali could finish the question. "Knew him," she corrected with a sigh. "From before I came here." The words were difficult for her to say, as are any words that don't seem true. "He was part of the group I was with."

Together, they watched Daryl sleep a few moments more. Carol had to give the girl credit. She didn't ask any more about it, and for that Carol was grateful. Then again, there were some questions that _no one_ asked now. Questions that were likely just too painful to be answered, or that had no good answers left to give.

After a while, Ali cleared her throat. "Either of you eat any breakfast?"

Carol shook her head. "I just woke up when you came in. He hasn't moved since last night. I patched up his shoulder, but he's got that cough..."

"Don't they always." Ali shook her head. It seemed like every survivor outside the settlement walls had that same gasping choke. "Wonder what it is that brings that on."

Carol shrugged. "Cold. Exhaustion. No food." She sighed. "Hard to tell for sure."

The girl nodded solemnly as she examined the edge of her scarf. "Guess so." She chewed her lip. "How 'bout I go round up a couple of plates?"

Smiling in weary relief and realizing for the first time that she was slightly hungry if not starving, Carol nodded. "That'd be great."

Bundling herself back into the coat and slipping out the door, Ali left them to the silence. Carol found herself seated next to Daryl once again. There were questions - so many questions - swimming through her head. Last night, she'd found herself positively shell-shocked, unable to process much more than the fact that it was _Daryl _standing before her. Alive and real and warm next to her skin. She thought now of the others. Wondered, with a certain sense of dread, what had become of them. Why was he alone, and where was he going? He'd said last night that it was _just how it was_, and the phrase had turned her stomach.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of the outer door, and she realized she'd sat there in a fog for longer than she'd thought. "Breakfast is served," Ali announced quietly, depositing two plates on a table nearby. She eyed Carol and Daryl for a moment more. Seeing that Carol had no apparent intention of leaving his side, she shuffled her feet. "I was thinking," she began, "that I'd head over and see how old Mr. Hannigan is doing. You know he never comes back here, but he needs that leg checked."

Recognizing the girl's attempt at giving them some privacy for the act of kindness it was, Carol pulled on a smile. "Sounds like a good idea. I'll see if I can get Sleeping Beauty here to eat something."

Within seconds, Ali was gone, and Carol sighed at the effort of her few cheery words. In the quiet of the early dawn, she found herself confronted with the task of waking Daryl. Uneasiness settled over her, along with an eagerness she couldn't explain. It was easier, almost, when he was asleep. There were no answers provided to the questions she couldn't bring herself to ask. He was just _there_ and that was enough - more than enough, really. She felt for a moment that was all she could stand. Still, he'd looked half-starved the previous night, and he'd fallen asleep before she'd been back with the food. He needed rest, but he needed something that passed for nutrition, too.

Sighing, she allowed herself to brush the hair back from his forehead, peeking at the cut he'd received from the wrong end of a punch at the gate the night before. "Daryl," she whispered. He didn't stir. Her fingers lingered a moment more before she drew them back. Things weren't how they used to be. Somehow, her mind kept trying to forget. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, lacing her fingers together until they were almost white. "You need to eat something," she insisted quietly. He shifted slightly, but didn't wake. She was just about to leave it, to let him sleep a while longer. "Daryl," she tried one last time.

She wasn't prepared for what exactly came next. His body jerked, tensing and rising from the bed. As he woke, he reached frantically for something - his crossbow, she realized - left resting at the foot of his bed - and as his eyes flew open, he bolted into a seated position, breath coming in frantic gasps.

Despite the icy terror that warped through her body, she stilled herself and waited. She'd been like that, too, at first. She'd woken for months with the sheer terror of knowing that she'd fallen asleep.

Slowly, he began to adjust. He fought to calm the heaving of his chest, and when his eyes came to rest on her, he bowed his head. He blinked, clearing the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. His cheeks reddened, and he pulled up his legs and leaned forward, draping his arms over his bent knees. He lowered his head even more so that his hair shielded his face. "Sorry," he mumbled.

She offered him a quiet smile that he didn't see. "It's okay." Silently, she waited him out.

When he finally found the courage to meet her eyes once more, he found perfect calmness. Some sort of understanding of exactly what had just occurred. Of course he did, coming from her. It was all so much more than what he deserved.

Carol straightened the quilt he'd thrown off when he woke and indicated he should lean back on the pillows she hastily arranged. "I hated to wake you, but you need to eat something. Then you can go right back to sleep." She reached for a plate. "It's not much, but it should help you get your strength back."

He accepted the food wordlessly, and she tried not to worry at the way his hand shook under the weight of the dish. He took one bite, then another, then eagerly began to devour the food.

"Easy," she cautioned, her warning hand almost touching his. "Don't want to go too fast."

He nodded, cheeks reddening a little more. He took one more bite, slowly, then turned to look at her. "You gonna eat?" His eyes flickered to the remaining plate abandoned on the side table.

"Yeah." She'd forgotten. He watched her until she took a bite before resuming his own meal. They ate in silence a few minutes more. Finally, she felt the urge to fill the quiet. The empty space of silence made her uneasy, like a shadows lurking in a darkened room. "How're you feeling?"

He shrugged and took another bite. "I'll make it."

She traced the handle of her spoon. It was bent a little, nicked and rough from wear. "You sleep well?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Ain't slept inside in a while. Least not more than a couple hours." He took another bite of oatmeal and risked a look at her. "You sleep?"

"Yeah, though my neck was none too happy about the position." She smiled wryly.

He realized then that she'd stayed in that chair. Blushing, he focused on his food. "Didn't have to stay."

"Yeah, I did."

He took a few more half-hearted bites before setting the plate in his lap. Studying the remaining morsels, he finally spoke the thought that had been on the edge of his mind, weaving its way through his dreams the night before. "You ain't...You ain't asked about none of them."

The shadows leaped out from that darkened room in her mind. Her stomach lurching, Carol sighed. The words were true. She hadn't. She hadn't asked about the ones she'd left behind. About the ones who'd sent her away.

"No," she finally agreed. "I guess...I guess I don't have the right."

His eyes darkened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, after what I did..."

"You didn't do _nothin_'!" he spit.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You was coverin' for that girl."

She shook her head. "No."

"Stop lyin'!" She saw then, that man from back at the quarry. All anger and rage and hurt, mostly hurt. "It weren't you! You was coverin' for that girl or for another one a _them_, but it weren't _you!"_

Lowering her head, she found she couldn't quite look at him. "I burned their bodies, Daryl."

"But ya didn't kill 'em."

She couldn't make herself correct him. "It was my fault. I pushed them too hard...They were just kids..." She swallowed painfully against the burning in her throat. "I couldn't lose another one."

"So ya let yourself get pushed away? Ya didn't even fight it!"

Her head lowered even more as the tears welled up in her eyes. Her plate lay forgotten, tipping on her knees. Sliding, as she was, ever so slowly over the edge.

"Ya could have _waited_! Should have known I'd come for you!" He was angry, so angry. He heard himself shouting. He saw her shrink away, drawing back into herself. He hated, _hated_ it but he couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," was all she could offer.

"I'd a found you if you'd a just waited!" He lowered his voice and struggled for control against the throbbing in his head. "Always find you," he muttered, and there was hurt in the words.

"I know you do." She tasted the salt of tears with the words.

"You was just _gone_."

"I _know_."

The silence stretched between them. His earlier outburst ended, he fiddled with his fork. "You didn't even fight it," he repeated through gritted teeth. "Ya just left."

It hit her then, washed over her in a force strong as the tides. She left. She should have fought, she should have pushed. She should have spoken up, refused to go, screamed until her voice gave out.

But she didn't. She'd handed Rick a meaningless watch and walked away into the unknown. Walked away from her family, from Daryl, from all of them. She'd taken Rick's word as law and walked away just like Merle without a good-bye. Vanished into thin air like wisps of smoke into a sky. Just another absence. Another person leaving. _Him_.

He coughed then, his agitation setting him off. As he struggled to pull air to his lungs, she deftly removed the plate from his lap and helped him to sit up. To her surprise, he didn't fight her hand on his back.

When he'd settled some, she offered him water. His hand shook as it came around the glass. Using her own to steady it, she curled her fingers around his rough, calloused hand. He drank and reclined back against the bed, tucking his good shoulder under and turning away from her. She remembered, then, that night on the farm. He'd hidden himself just like this. Automatically, her hand came up to smooth the blanket over him, but she withdrew it just in time.

Her mind kept trying to forget.

"I shouldn't have gone like I did." He refused to turn to meet her eyes. "I didn't think I had a choice."

He inhaled a shuddering breath. "Always a choice."

"Sometimes there's not."

Peering over his rigid shoulder, she noticed his eyelids drifting down. He fought it, but the pull of sleep only tugged stronger.

"I'll let you sleep," she whispered. Carol rose in defeat and stepped from the chair.

His hand stretched out like lightning, closing in a vice around her wrist. Her eyes widened. He twisted toward her, half raised on the bed. "'M sorry," he muttered. He released her hand, and she was even more startled by the fear mirrored in his eyes.

Genuinely confused, she absently rubbed the reddened skin of her wrist. "For what?"

He turned away again as his eyes drifted shut once more. "I shoulda found you."

The slur of his words told her he was drifting fast. She swallowed hard against the burning in her throat. His breathing evened and the tension in his shoulders eased.

A tear made its way down her cheek.

"You always do."

* * *

**A/N: I'm going with my own personal take on the Karen/David situation, at least for now. I'm not actually sure what happened, but in my head Carol thinks it may have been the girl, blames herself for that, and covered for her. Someday, I suppose we'll know for sure. Until that time, there is fic. :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: You are all amazing. Thanks beyond words for the encouragement!**

**The Long Road Home**

* * *

When Daryl next surfaced from the heavy pull of sleep, the late afternoon sun was busy casting long shadows across the office room. The first thing that he noticed, apart from the throbbing in his shoulder and the pounding in his head, was that Carol wasn't there. The chair she'd occupied earlier sat empty and removed far across the room. The memory of their earlier conversation came flooding back, and he saw as clearly as if she were standing before him that wounded look in her eyes. That scared, defeated lowering of her head that he had caused.

Of course he'd driven her away.

Footsteps crossing the next room caused his muscles to tense, and he relaxed only slightly when a young blonde caught his eye through the doorway.

"Hey." The girl took note of his blearily opened eyes. "You're awake."

Unsure exactly of his standing, Daryl grunted non-committally and scanned the room for any sign of Carol. There was none to be found. The chair where she'd tossed her coat the evening he came in stood bare in a dimly lit corner. He pushed away the panic rising up slowly from inside his gut.

"I'm Ali," the girl offered.

He spoke nothing in return, but the girl didn't budge.

"Carol just went to get you something more to eat. There's sort of a cafeteria across the way. She should be back soon." Ali studied him as she came closer, pausing to lean against the doorway. "We found you some clothes if you're up to changing." His eyes flickered to the table beside him. A shirt, pants, even clean socks lie folded neatly and waiting for him.

At Ali's expectant gaze, he offered a slight nod of comprehension.

"You need any help gettin' over to the bathroom? Got running water and everything," she tempted, taking a step forward.

"No." The abruptness stilled her feet.

"Okay, then." Despite the rebuke, she offered him a genuine smile. "If you need any help, just holler. Like I said, Carol's got food on the way. And I..." she rolled her eyes back toward the other clinic room, "I have instruments to clean." With that, the girl disappeared and Daryl was left in relative peace.

Of course, relative peace also made it easier to think. And the more Daryl thought, the more he remembered. And the more he remembered, the worse he felt. He'd hurt her - really _hurt_ her. He'd come back to find her, and he'd hurt her. He was just so angry. He hadn't realized it at first. If she'd just waited. He'd thought she'd know. He'd find her. He'd always found her. That night at the farm when the herd had come, then later deep in the bowels of the prison. A hundred thousand other little times in between. He'd always come.

He'd thought she'd known. But she'd just taken off and he'd come to think she never realized that at all.

Frustrated, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing as he nudged the lump on his forehead. He eyed the clothes with vague disinterest. She'd want him gone as soon as he could go, but the kindness of the warm shirt and cargo pants were just like her. He sighed as he listened to the girl clinking around in the other room. Carol would return soon. His time here was ticking. No sense in putting off the inevitable.

Tossing back the quilt, he moved to swing his feet over the edge of the bed, realizing for the first time that Carol must have removed his boots. Wincing at the pain that came from the sudden movement after so many hours of lying still, he had to pause to gather himself before standing. His head spun in dizziness and his stomach tossed at the sudden change in elevation. He'd barely ate that morning, and the weeks before hadn't exactly been plentiful.

"Suck it up," he whispered to himself. _She won't want your pussy ass around. Not after you gone and screamed at her_. Gingerly, he stood, swallowing down the burning in his throat. He grabbed the pile of clothes and made his way through a narrow doorway and into a tiny bathroom. Once upon a time, it must have been the office's private bathroom, for it wasn't much more than a miniscule closet with a sink and a stool. Closing the door behind him, he noticed a mirror above the sink. Last night he'd been too exhausted, too overwhelmed to even register its existence when he'd slipped in just before collapsing onto the bed. Using it now to try to gain a better look at his wound, he peeled back Carol's carefully placed bandage. From the angle he was working with, it was tough to tell how it was healing.

Abandoning that idea, he took advantage of the running, albeit cold, water and one of the little towels waiting at the edge of the sink. Stripping off his shirt and pants, he cleaned himself up as best he could before filling the sink with water and dunking his hair. The cold shocked him even though he'd been expecting it. Drawing in a surprised breath, the air caught in his lungs and he had to fight to control the coughing fit that followed.

"You okay in there?" The girl's voice drifted in from uncomfortably close to the door.

He swallowed painfully. "Fine." He waited until he heard her retreating footsteps.

Snatching up another towel, he dried off quickly, already shivering. Carol was a good judge of size, and the new clothes fit well. Even so, he found that they felt almost foreign on his skin. Balling up his dirty vest and pants and wadding his filthy, hole-ridden socks inside the bundle, he rested his forehead on the closed door for a moment.

What would happen now? That girl said Carol was coming back with food. He'd acted like an angry fool earlier, yelling at her. He'd seen hurt flicker across her features when he did so, and all the while his own mind was begging him to stop. It was just all so much. She was gone and now she was here and he didn't know his place anymore. If he hurried now, he could slip out before she came back. But that thought came with a pang, and he couldn't bring himself to move.

Even as the thoughts swirled and ebbed in his mind, he heard the scrape of the outer clinic door. Two muffled voices joined in conversation before he distinctly heard Carol call to someone to have a good night. The door scraped again and Daryl could only assume the girl had left, leaving the two of them alone in the offices.

Gathering himself, he pushed away from the door and fumbled with his clothes and the knob. Emerging from the bathroom, he found Carol placing a plate of what looked like potatoes and a small amount of some sort of meat on the table by his bed.

She turned as he opened the bathroom door. "You're up," she smiled warmly, but he could see that there was caution present as well. Of course there was. He felt nothing but shame at that emotion from her. "Brought you something more to eat. And," she gestured to a chipped mug, "something for your cough."

"Thanks." Somehow he found it difficult to leave the doorway. Difficult to move toward her across the room. He fidgeted with the bundle of laundry in his hands.

"I'll wash those for you."

His eyes snapped up in confusion. "What?"

"Your clothes." Again, she smiled before taking a tentative step forward. "I'll wash them for you." She extended a hand.

Awkwardly, he relinquished the soiled garments. She removed them to a tote across the room as he chewed his thumb.

"You feel like eating at a table?"

Again, he looked up in surprise. Why was it that everything seemed to come at him so damn fast? Processing the question, he felt himself shrug, followed closely by the pull of the stitches. "Don't matter none." He'd stay for a meal. Take one last chance before she turned him out and on his way.

"Okay, then." She reclaimed the plate and he numbly followed her to the next room. Depositing the food on a desk, she slid over two chairs. "Here you go." She took her seat and he followed, dazed by everything that she said.

They began their meal in silence. A few bites in, she reached for a lamp. Soon a warm glow bathed the room. "Gets dark so early this time of year."

He found himself with no response.

It wasn't until he was nearly done with his plate when his mind settled enough to realize what he was eating. Turkey. He wondered how the hell that came to be in a place like this.

Almost as if she'd read his mind, she answered the unspoken question. "Had a little flock of turkeys wander in a while back. Strangest thing," she shook her head. "Every once in a while there's fresh meat." She shoved a mass on her plate. "And there's always plenty of potatoes. Must have planted thousands of them last spring." Her face screwed up in obvious displeasure. Despite the clenching guilt in his stomach, Daryl found himself fighting a grin.

He shoveled in a bite. "Beats owl."

She looked at him with a real smile this time, one that made him duck his head. "I miss some things about eating those owls," she mused before he found himself with no response for the second time and they fell silent once again.

When he'd finished his plate, he looked over in surprise to find her already done and waiting patiently for him to be through. Daryl cleared his throat. With the end of the food came the end of his options. He'd forgotten for a moment, with her sitting across from him. Suddenly uncomfortable, he stuttered for the words. "I, uh, I'll be on my way. Sleep in the camp tonight and head out tomorrow."

Her fingers fumbled and nearly dropped her water glass. It landed on the table with a shaking rattle. Stray droplets colored the wood. At the noise, his eyes jerked to Carol's to find her looking positively stricken. "Already?"

Pulling back from her shocked stare, he studied the table intently. "Figured you'd want me gone."

"Why would I want that?"

His fingers traced a gouge in the wood. "Earlier, I..." He scowled in frustration at his own inept words. "Shouldn't a yelled like I did."

She was quiet for a very long time. His fingers continued to trace the indent in the wood, dipping into the trench before climbing their way out again.

What seemed like minutes trickled past. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was only a whisper. "Daryl?"

He didn't look up.

"Look at me." Her voice was soft, but there was a command in the tone.

He swallowed, then peered at her from under his bangs.

"Do you want to leave?"

He couldn't hold her gaze. His fingers crawled in and out of the gouge. "Thought you'd want me to."

"Do you _want _to leave?"

He felt like he was breaking. He knew he'd just fuck it up if he opened his mouth.

"Daryl?"

Still staring at the blurring table, he shook his head.

Carol sat back in her chair. "Good," she stated simply.

Boldened by the word, he chanced a look.

She offered him a watery smile. "Because I'd like you to stay."

Again, he traced the rut in the table and offered only another slight nod. He wished he could tell her. Explain to her what had happened after she'd gone. Tell her that the thought of leaving after finding her would have surely killed him. Ask her to forgive him for what had gone through his head that last day inside the prison walls. But he couldn't. He couldn't say any of those things, at least not to her. So he settled for that nod and hoped that somehow she'd come to understand.

Carol inhaled a shaky breath. She smiled in that certain way she had. "I should change those bandages." She was up and clearing the plates away before he could utter another word or even process the resolution they had reached. He was grateful, though, that she hadn't dwelled on what had passed. "You're getting quite a bruise there above your eye, too. Go on and have a seat on the desk. I'll be ready in a minute."

While she busied herself finding supplies, he returned somewhat numbly to the table he'd occupied the night before. Eventually, she joined him. Pulling off enough of the cloth to reveal his wound, she hummed to herself. "Little hard to tell, but I think it's healing up okay." She caught his eye. "Keep drinking your tea for that cough."

He huffed a little at the comment. At the first sip with his meal, the vile liquid hadn't been to his pleasure, but he had to admit that the soothing burn it left in his throat calmed the aching in his chest. She leaned over to hand him the mug. "Will if ya tell me what's in it."

She cut a new strip of gauze and replaced her scissors. "Now that," she raised an eyebrow, "is a trade secret."

He scoffed. "Probably tryin' ta poison me."

She smiled at the comment, and for a minute it was two years in the past. Just another day. Another run. Another teasing conversation wedged in between the hunting and cooking and the killing and the endless battle for their very survival. She finished her work on his shoulder, straightened his shirt, and the moment was broken.

"There. I'll take a look at it again tomorrow. Mean time, you best get yourself back in bed."

He slid from the desk. "All I done all day is sleep."

"That's because you need it." She studied him somewhat critically. Already, he looked better than he had the previous night. Granted, some of the dirt had been washed away, but the circles under his eyes were lighter. His cheeks were still too hollow, but she was pleased to see that some color had returned. He felt heat rising in his neck as her gaze turned thoughtful. "How long were you out there alone?"

He didn't answer at first. _Alone_. His mind flashed back to that terrible day. To Rick's words on the prison catwalk and to the rumbling, awful arrival of the Governor's tank. That day was seared into his consciousness for all eternity, but how long since that? How long since he'd found and lost the rest? He'd kissed Judith on the head and let Carl wrap his arms around him in a hug neither one of them had the strength to avoid. Two years since he'd lost everything that mattered. How long since then?

"Been a while." Seeing that his answer didn't placate her, he elaborated in a half truth. "Year and half...maybe more."

"Why'd you leave?" Her hip came to rest against the desk he leaned on, her eyes unfailingly blue in the lamplight.

He fought the urge to bring his hand to his mouth. Shrugging, he mumbled as much of the truth as he could. "Had to. Ya..." He studied his boots. "There weren't no reason left to stay."

Her expression crumpled into worry and something like regret, but she must have sensed that it was all he could say. His face burned red in the silence that stretched between them. Finally, she nodded slightly. "I'm glad you're here, Daryl. And I really do want you to stay."

Braving a look at Carol, he found her watching him with watery eyes. Gaze retreating back to his boots, the words fell from his lips. "Me, too."

A moment later, she inhaled and ran a hand through her hair. "Let's get you back into bed." With the gentlest of a nudge, she indicated he move before her. Despite his earlier protests, Daryl felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at him again.

"You ain't gonna sleep in the chair again, are ya?" he groused as he climbed back into bed. "Two other damn beds in this room. Don't see why ya couldn't use one of them."

A smile played at the corners of Carol's lips. He liked to see it there. "They're for patients."

"You're gonna be one if ya spend another night in a chair."

The smile broadened. "We'll see."

He closed his eyes, picturing that little smile and surrendering to the rapidly piling weight of sleep. In the distance, he could hear Carol's footsteps and the clink of dishes being scrubbed.

That was the last he heard until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The Walking Dead does not belong to me. The very minor characters of Rose (and eventually Bernard) used here belong to the creators of LOST. It is absolutely not necessary to have any idea who they are for this story. It's just that as I wrote, those were the characters I imagined filling the roles in my head. I figured I'd might as well call them by their names and give credit where it's due.**

**Thank you all for such lovely feedback. It's a huge encouragement to me!**

**The Long Road Home**

* * *

It was light again when he woke. Stretching against the scratchy sheets of the clinic bed, he marveled at the fact that he'd probably slept more in the last two days than he had in the entire two months that had come before.

"Mornin', Sleepy," a voice greeted.

He looked over to find Carol folding sheets across the room. From all appearances, she'd been up, changed, and working for hours.

"Mornin'," he muttered, his voice still husky from sleep. He squinted at the light. "Time is it?"

He bit his tongue as soon as he spoke. The question was asked more out of old habit than anything else, since time in the hours and minutes sense didn't really matter much anymore. His thoughts rushed back to Rick, trying to hand him a battered woman's watch one terrible day after the prison fell. Trying to give him something to make up for the mistake that was done. Daryl had shattered it into the dirt.

Across the room, Carol just shrugged. "Still pretty early. Amazing what you can get done when you don't sleep in a chair." She fixed him with a teasing grin.

He realized then that she was putting new sheets on the bed she must have occupied the night before. He grunted his approval. "Told you so."

Fluffing a flattened pillow, she shook her head at his brand of gloating. "I'm almost done here. Ali will be in soon. Feel like heading over for some breakfast? Get out of this place for a little while?"

"Hell, yeah." Daryl didn't have to think hard about that. He'd been in the same three rooms for the last day and a half, and his skin was crawling with the need for movement and some fresh air.

Carol smiled at his eagerness and replaced a quilt. "Soon as Ali gets here, we'll go. It's just across the courtyard."

Daryl was already scrambling as quickly as his aching body would allow up from the bed. He headed toward the tiny closeted bathroom. Carol's voice floated behind him as he shut the door.

"I washed your poncho that first night. Should be dry. Make sure you put it on. Getting cold out there."

* * *

A short time later, they were leaving the building they'd entered that first night and stepping through the metal doors that led outside. A cold, bracing wind hit Daryl's cheek, and he squinted against the sunlight.

Carol stomped her feet on the cracked cement stairs and tugged to tighten the wrap of her coat. "Told you it was cold out."

"Feels good," he assured. His eyes teared a bit in the bite of the wind.

They stepped out into the courtyard, where it appeared that the residents of this place were just starting their day. Daryl took a moment to try to get his bearings. It looked much different in the daylight. Less imposing. Fewer shadows. More... something he couldn't identify. Brick buildings a few stories tall dotted the area, although only four appeared to be enclosed inside the ragged wall that protected the settlement. The rest of the buildings stood outside the enclosure and, therefore, remained outside of protection. He tried to formulate what exactly he wanted to ask and settled on, "What is this place?"

Carol set an easy pace through the narrow strip of grass that separated the buildings. "Used to be some kind of little Christian College. Really not much more than a boarding school, but there was already a partial fence around the campus when the first ones here found it. It's why they thought it'd be a good place to try and stay." She gestured across the way. "We've got one building of what used to be dorms cleared and inside the wall. That's the taller one. Then there's the three smaller office and classroom buildings we use for the clinic and food and storing supplies."

Looking around, Daryl had to admit he was impressed. The wall seemed sturdy enough, and the buildings, with their ancient bricks, were strong too. "Good set-up," he commented. "How many people?"

She nudged him toward a side door. "About seventy inside the main wall. Another forty or so in the temporary camp that's fenced in just outside. Hoping to clear another one of the dorms soon so we can take more people in. Seems like more come every day. We need the space."

"Why ain't it cleared yet?"

She offered him a wry smile as they entered the building. "Manpower. Most of what we've got are old or young, or can't handle the work for one reason or another. We've got four buildings enclosed as it is. No point in clearing another dorm until the protection can be expanded around it." She pointed across the way. Daryl could just see an offshoot extending from the main brick wall and aiming toward one of the taller structures. "They'll circle that offshoot around the dorm so once it's cleared, it'll stay that way. Then they'll knock down the inner part of the fence and the settlement will have expanded." She crooked her head. "At least that's the plan...First priority is to keep everyone alive. Extending the wall out there in the open takes a while."

As they entered a set of double doors, he could smell breakfast, whatever it was, drawing near. His stomach gurgled its anticipation.

"Right through here," Carol held open another door, and they entered what must have once been some sort of a lounge. Men, women, and more than a few children occupied the scarred formica tables. At the head of the room, a line was forming next to a cafeteria style window.

"Carol!" A young boy, no more than about ten came hobbling over. Daryl quickly realized that there was something wrong with his leg, but the kid didn't seem to care much one way or the other.

"Luke," she greeted the boy with a smile, crouching down to look at him level in the eye. "You minding your aunt?"

The kid nodded. A woman whom Daryl assumed must be the aunt approached them. She eyed Daryl with brief suspicion before offering him a cautious nod. Turning to the boy, she patted his shoulder. "Time to get going," she gave Carol a knowing look.

Carol straightened the collar of the kid's coat. "Keep working on that math, okay?" The kid rolled his eyes, and Daryl couldn't blame him. Carol smiled anyway. "Be good," she reminded him with a wink. Luke left with his aunt and Carol turned back to Daryl. "He's a good kid." She bit her lip as she watched him hobble away. "Broke his leg in a fall when it all started. Never healed right, so he's got that limp." As they made their way to the front of the line, Carol handed Daryl a plate from the waiting stack. "Good kid, though." She inhaled as if to ask Daryl something, but appeared to change her mind as she shook her head and turned to the food.

There were so many things she was terrified to ask. So many things he dreaded having to say. So very many things they tried so very hard to avoid. Still, Daryl knew, they couldn't wait forever.

When they reached the head of the thickening line, Daryl accepted some thankfully warm oatmeal from an older woman with dark, coffee colored skin behind the counter whom Carol greeted as Rose. He was beginning to realize she knew everyone here, or at least it seemed that way to him. Turning from the counter, he realized the room had filled somewhat since they came in. A strange arm brushed against his own. The buzz of conversations and closeness of more people than he'd seen in the last year caused his jaw to clench. He sidestepped a burly man. His breathing picked up noticeably, and his shoulders lifted with tension. Panic climbed through his chest as his eyes widened, looking for an escape.

"Daryl?" He started at the small white hand that came to rest with a feather weight on his arm. Carol's blue eyes met his with concern.

He tried to force himself to slow his breaths. Tried to fight down the panic. Carol stepped slightly closer, blocking his view of the rest of the room. His hand was sweaty as it gripped his plate. The line behind them continued to grow. The humming buzz seemed somehow overwhelming. He forced himself to focus. "'M fine."

She continued to watch him with those steady eyes. A knowing realization crossed her face. "Let's go take this outside," she offered him a tiny smile to which he nodded gratefully.

Daryl focused on her narrow back as they made their way back through the crowd. Finally, they were outside again. He could feel his shoulders fall as the cold air filled his lungs and finally there was space. The droning hum of voices silenced until all he heard was the wind.

Carol led them over to a set of stairs and raised an eyebrow in question. Wordlessly nodding his agreement, he sat on the cracked cement. She followed suit, and they began to eat.

Carol inhaled and tipped her head back as if to study the cloudless sky. "Was hard for me to adjust at first, too."

He eyed her sideways as he ate.

She lowered her head back down and swallowed a bite of flavorless oatmeal. "All those people. All of them new." She took another spoonful and chewed thoughtfully. "I was so used to being alone…to seeing any other person as a threat." She sighed. "Lot different in here from being out there alone."

She _knew_. She understood. But then again, she always had.

He nodded slightly and continued to eat. The cold air burned in his lungs, a glorious, filling feeling until it made him choke. As he coughed and tried to pull in air, Carol steadied the bowl in his hand. One hand found his back as together they waited it out. When he'd calmed enough, she withdrew her arm. "Maybe the cold air wasn't such a good idea." Her forehead crinkled in concern.

He couldn't help but notice the way her face turned with worry. "Nah, just went down the wrong pipe." He gestured to his bowl.

The look on her face told him she wasn't fooled for a second, but she let it pass. They finished the meal without incident. Daryl waited outside while she returned the dishes back into the settlement's makeshift cafeteria. When she reappeared again, they began to walk.

It didn't take long for her to show him the perimeter gates and the rest of the buildings. He got the feeling she kept the tour intentionally short, and he kicked himself for his coughing fit earlier. Before long, they were back at the doors to the brick building that housed the clinic and other storage. He moved to follow her in, but Carol lingered just outside with her hand on the metal door. She made a comment here or there about nothing important at all before drifting into an uncomfortable silence.

Carol shielded her eyes against the sun and squinted at Daryl. She inhaled, then stopped. Biting her lip, she studied him, then the ground, then Daryl again. She swallowed and fidgeted with the fraying cuff of her oversized coat.

"You gonna tell me what's eatin' ya?" Obviously, there was something on her mind. Something she wanted to cover before they headed back into that tiny clinic room. Something he may or may not want to hear. He worried for a minute that she'd changed her mind about wanting him to stay. He worried she'd ask one of those questions he just couldn't stand to _hear_ let alone voice a response.

She bit her lip and peered nervously at him. "Did you mean what you said last night? 'Bout staying?" Daryl's stomach dropped at her words, and she looked down. "I know it's not much here, but...At least for a while. I just thought..." She trailed off, and relief flooded him. She wasn't telling him to go. In fact, to his unsure ears, it sounded an awful lot like she was asking him, again, to stay.

He shuffled his feet, scuffing them against the cracked cement. "I meant it."

"Okay." She nodded a quiet smile.

Daryl surveyed the camp outside the main fence. "Be fine to stay in the camp tonight."

Her face fell. "No," she said quickly.

"Shoulder's fine."

"It's that cough I'm worried about. Sleeping outside on the cold ground is what started that in the first place."

"That and a pack a day since I was 'bout fifteen."

She narrowed her eyes, but a bit of a smile crept onto her lips. "And that's gonna end if it hasn't already," she chided. "Really, though," and her eyes turned serious. "Cough like that could get bad if you don't take care of it. Pneumonia, lung infections... I've seen it before. It's pretty common now. I don't know how to treat all of that. Sometimes the drugs we have don't work."

She looked so scared that Daryl found himself eager to do anything to bring back the teasing smile. "Fine," he huffed. "I'll stay inside."

Carol smiled in relief. "Good. I'll see about getting you a room in the dorm."

"Thought those were only for ones what could contribute."

Her face darkened into something like determination. "You will."

Daryl shrugged as he turned to scan the landscape beyond the fence. Hard as it was to admit, he'd barely been surviving these last couple months. His shoulder wasn't in the greatest shape, and he'd had that aching cough for longer than he could remember. "Not exactly a hundred percent."

Carol cocked her head to the side and studied him with a shrewd glare. "I know you better than that. If you're not out there hunting or going on runs within a week I'd be surprised. Whether you should be or not."

Again, he shrugged.

She softened her tone. "You've always done more than anyone else. Worked harder…done _more_. Some things don't change in time." The words were spoken quietly, but with a determination that took his breath. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, and he blushed lightly at her words. He remembered that night back on the farm. Her in the doorway standing over his bed.

Sensing that she'd embarrassed him, Carol turned to open the metal door leading back to the clinic. "I've got to go see what Ali's done with the place." She paused on the top stair to study him as he stood below. "And you," she smirked slightly at his upturned face. "You need some tea."

With a huff and the barest edge of a smile, he followed her in.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Long Road Home**

At Carol's insistence, Daryl returned, once again, to the clinic bed in the little office room. This time, however, he found himself unable to sleep. Despite their walk and the cold air, his body simply refused to rest. Daryl had never been much for long recoveries, and two days in bed found him at his limit. He'd hefted off the covers several times, each movement stilled and reversed by the sharp quirk of Carol's eyebrow. People drifted in and out of the clinic throughout the day, and he found himself half listening to their stories and complaints. Mostly, though, he let himself be soothed by the quiet murmur of Carol's voice and her sure steps across the creaking floor.

The people that came in were a mixture. The first had been a very young mother and what had to be nearly a newborn. The thing had been wailing its damn head off with no end in sight. The noise had spurred the first of Daryl's many attempted jailbreaks. Eventually the kid quieted down, and after discussing the possibilities of a run for new formula near in the future, Carol sent them on their way. She'd then patched up the bleeding finger of a huge man who'd been out working on the wall. After that, it was a stranger who had happened onto the settlement. A stranger in need of patching up, with the same cough that plagued Daryl's lungs. Ali apparently looked him over as Carol tended to an old woman complaining of an aching back.

An aching back. Daryl almost smiled. If that was the worst of an old woman's complaints, she should count herself lucky. He fought harder against the reaction when Carol told the old bitch nearly as much.

Later in the morning they hit a lull, and Carol crept back into his room. "Thought you'd be fast asleep." She rested her head against the door frame.

"Kinda hard with screamin' kids and complainin' widows."

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Didn't stop you yesterday. You slept straight through a whole crowd of people a lot louder than this. Didn't wake once."

He grunted in reply.

She pushed herself off of the frame. "I'm heading out for a while. Got a few people to see, and I need to check on some supplies...make some lists. I'll bring us back some food when I come."

He nodded, grateful to avoid the closed in cafeteria and its constant humming noise for as long as possible. Grateful that she knew it too, but avoided saying the words.

* * *

It was longer than he expected before she returned. As the time passed, he found himself growing impatient at her absence. Anxious and frustrated with his confinement, he took to pacing around the tiny room, drawing the attention of a somewhat exasperated Ali.

"You trying to dig a trench in the floor? I'm sure there are better ways to go about it."

He snorted but continued on his path.

Ali rolled her eyes, and he glared at her in irritation. "She'll be back. Just had a few errands to run. I'm sure she'd like to have some of the floor left when she gets here."

Just then, the scrape of the outer door alerted him to Carol's return. True to her word, she balanced two plates in her hand. Shooting Daryl an "I told you so" glance, Ali left them to go get some lunch herself.

After shooting a glare at the closing door, Daryl made his way over to the table they'd used for dinner the night before. Carol gratefully placed the steaming plates on the surface, but paused before sitting down. She glanced at Daryl with a hint of nervousness in her features. "I brought you something."

It was then that he noticed the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Removing it, she held it toward him. With an unsteady hand, he gripped the strap, and after confirming her wish for him to do so, he cautiously peeked inside.

"My bolts." He fingered them softly before looking up in confusion.

"And fixin's to make more," she clarified. "Thought they might come in handy. And," she continued, a shy smile creeping across her lips. "I just thought you might like to have them back."

Still not following, he absently removed one from the bag and twisted it in his fingers. "Thought there weren't no weapons allowed here."

Carol cleared her throat. Her eyes followed the easy path he set for the arrow, twisting it gently, almost reverently, through the air. "Not for outsiders. Not for just anyone." She looked worried for a minute, and, suddenly self-conscious at her scrutiny, he replaced the bolt in the bag.

"But if you're staying," she continued, "then you're not an outsider. And if you're up to it, I thought you could help keep a lookout over the detail working on expanding the wall." When he didn't indicate any disagreement, she went on. "As it is now, the detail building up the bricks has to stop for any walkers that happen by. Either go get them with a knife or use the rifle. Rifle brings more on 'em. Knife's dangerous and slows down the work."

He thought back to their earlier conversation. "Bow's near silent. Can take out a walker or two at a distance without drawin' more."

She nodded, pleased he seemed to be, at the very least, considering the idea. "I know sitting up in a crow's nest all day watching others work isn't exactly your style, but until you're healed up..." She trailed off, that worried look back on her face.

Daryl thought. He'd said he'd stay, he'd just never bothered to think of the particulars. All that had run through his mind at the invitation was the overwhelming feeling that he couldn't _leave_. He couldn't walk away from her. He'd never really considered exactly what that would mean. He nodded slowly. "Reckon I can do that, least until my shoulder's fixed."

She graced him with a relieved smile. "Good. I already talked to Bernard. He's the one that found this place. I told him that if you were up to it, you'd start tomorrow...if that's okay?"

"Fine by me. I can manage the bow. Can start this afternoon…not wait around."

She shook her head and indulged in a slight roll of her eyes. "I thought you'd say that. Not today. Doctor's orders."

Daryl shrugged in agreement and moved to sit, but Carol hesitated. He stood straight again next to his chair. "Somethin' else?"

"There's..." She drummed her fingers against the scarred wood.

"What?"

Carol chewed her lip. "When I talked to Bernard about you watching the fence, I asked him about a room in the dorm." She sighed. "They're full up with a long list of people waiting. I hoped there'd be one, but until we clear that next building..."

He shrugged. "Told ya. The camp's fine." He moved to sit, but again she interrupted.

"Workers...the ones from the camp that contribute on the wall or on watch or on runs...and their families...they're letting them stay in the lobby...the cafeteria," she clarified, a little uncomfortable. "It's inside, but there's probably fifteen people already in that one little room. Maybe even more depending on the night."

She studied him with a look of defeat, and he knew she was recalling his earlier reaction to the pressing crowd of people inside the cafeteria. She knew, just as he did, that he wouldn't last long in a place like that. Not now, anyway. Not any time soon. Wouldn't be able to stand the closeness, the noise, the people so nearby.

Carol traced a finger along her untouched plate. "They're pretty set on keeping the hallways and storage areas of the other buildings clear. We used to let people stay there, but..." She trailed off and looked away. "We lost some people that way." Swallowing, she looked down. "It's not an option," she stated quietly.

Carol chose not to elaborate and Daryl shrugged. "Can stay in the camp outside for a while. Get's too cold, can head to the lobby." He took his seat then, picking up a fork and moving to take a bite of his boiled potatoes before they completely cooled.

"Stay with me." When his head snapped up in surprise and his potatoes fell from his fork, he found Carol still standing with shock spread across her face. She blushed and scratched at her rapidly reddening neck. "I mean, I have a room in the dorm. It's not much, but you'd be inside...if you wanted. You could stay there for now."

He found himself staring while the seconds ticked by. He'd never considered where she lived. During his short time at the settlement, she'd slept in the clinic. On their tour that morning, she'd pointed out the dormitory, but hadn't mentioned her room. Though, he realized, of course she earned a room. He just found himself surprised she'd actually taken one for her own use. And here she was offering to share it with him.

Surely she'd realize she made a mistake. She'd find some way of taking back the offer. But as the steam failed to rise from their rapidly cooling plates, it dawned on him that she was still waiting for an answer.

He recalled the nervous agitation he'd felt earlier that morning when she'd left him at the clinic. He thought back to the months he'd spent on the road - not knowing if she was alive or dead or somewhere terribly in between. Finally, his gaze fell on her blushing face. Her head fell slightly at his silence.

Daryl nodded slightly, though she never saw. He reloaded his fork with potatoes and nodded some more. "'Kay," he said simply, and took a bite.

She looked surprised at his answer before a tentative smile pulled at her lips. "You sure?"

"Said I was," he muttered. "'Less you'd rather not," he swallowed abruptly and looked up in concern.

"No," she clarified. "Okay," she smiled softly a moment later. "Not much reason for you to stay here another night. 'Less you like screaming babies and cranky women."

He shoveled in another bite. "Put up with you, don't I?"

Her jaw fell at the comment, and for a split second he was terrified she'd taken the jab seriously. But her face widened into a smile before she impetuously stuck out her tongue and finally took her seat.

Pleased he'd made her smile, Daryl ducked his head back to his plate and they began to eat.

* * *

The afternoon passed quickly for them both. Carol and Ali were busy turning the clinic inside out between patients, trying to scrub it free of dirt and germs. They were concerned about the cough - about how it spread - and talked in hushed voices alluding to an epidemic that had run through camp the year before. Thinking of the prison, Daryl gratefully headed outside to find Bernard and see about his instructions for the following day.

Whatever expectations Daryl had for Bernard, they were shattered just as soon as he met the man. All he had known from Carol's brief explanation was that he was Rose's husband - Rose from the kitchen - Carol had reminded him, and the two of them had been among the first to try to make this campus some kind of a home. He was the unofficial leader of the group, and Daryl had, in his mind, pictured Rick the way it used to be. Or maybe Tyreese with his imposing form.

Bernard, Daryl found, was nothing like either one. Having met Rose, it took him a minute to come around to the idea that Bernard was both white and completely disarming to boot. Still, it was plain to see that there was a calm intelligence to the man. He reminded Daryl in some ways of Hershel, the memory striking him with an aching pang.

Once the necessary introductions had been made, Bernard had sized Daryl up with a searching but not unkind stare. "Are you sure you're well enough to take your turn up there?" The man gestured to the makeshift platform positioned just over the wall. It overlooked, from its perch on high, the offshoot of fence intended to circle the second dorm. "I saw you when you came in a couple nights ago. Wasn't too much keeping you on your feet."

Daryl adjusted the bow on his back. The weight was comforting despite his aching shoulder. "Can shoot my bow. Be fine to keep watch."

Bernard smiled. "Carol says you're quite the shot. Hope I get to see it." He cocked his head and wrinkled his brow. "Then again, maybe not." Daryl huffed slightly at the joke. "Haven't had too much trouble with walkers lately. Seems like they're calmer when it's cold. Hope it stays that way."

Daryl grunted his agreement.

"You may be ready for the wall," Bernard continued, "but you best keep yourself off of the actual work detail, at least for now. Carol will have both our heads if you undo all of her hard work." Bernard studied him with a curious twinkle. "She seems very fond of you."

Daryl lowered his head at the heat that rushed to his cheeks, but thankfully Bernard changed the subject.

"She asked about finding you a room. I wish we could - I really do - but until the fence expands and we clear that next dorm we're full up." Daryl read sincerity in his eyes. "There's the lobby or the camp until then. You alright for a place to stay?"

Daryl nodded, but chose not to elaborate on the arrangement.

"Good." Bernard offered his hand. "Welcome to Haven."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And finally, a bit of the story is revealed. You guys are amazing, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

Night came all too quickly, and Daryl found that the farther the sun fell in the sky, the more his shoulders tightened at the prospect of what was to come. He'd spent a good portion of the last couple days unconscious. The times when he was awake were few and far between and his time alone with Carol hadn't extended much past a meal. And so, as the shadows grew longer and the prospect of him and her and one tiny room approached, he found himself worried over the possibility.

She still hadn't asked him about the rest. There were moments, flashes, where he thought she would, but she always seemed to change her mind and the subject at the very last minute. He'd only asked her the one time about it, and then he'd ended up shouting at her like an ass. He'd made a mess of that whole conversation just like he always did anything important. Anything that really counted. Still, he knew the topic wasn't done. Instinct more than anything told him it was just over the horizon. Creeping ever closer with the setting sun.

When Carol had at last closed the clinic door and returned their evening dishes, they made their way back across the courtyard to the brick dormitory building. The hallways were dark, but Carol walked assuredly through the twists and turns and up several flights of muddy stairs. On the highest floor, she stopped before a door just like all the rest and smiled nervously as he shuffled his feet and adjusted the crossbow on his back. "Room 311," she announced. "Home, sweet home." She gestured him in before her.

He hadn't been sure what to expect from a college dorm. He'd certainly never had occasion to see one before the world came to an end. Hadn't really expected to set foot inside one now that it had. Under the glow of a lamp, he realized exactly how small of a space they would be sharing. The room was barren, save for a neatly made narrow bed, a wooden desk with an office chair, and some plastic crates containing Carol's few possessions. A closet door was closed over to the right, and he noted the books stacked on top of the desk.

"It isn't much," she apologized. She did that a lot, he noticed. Apologized for what she had to offer like it wasn't nearly enough. He wanted to tell her somehow. Let her know that it was more – so much more – than what he deserved. But his worthless tongue just wouldn't allow the right words to pass.

"It isn't much at all," she repeated, "but it'll keep you warmer than you'd be outside." He was grateful once again that she didn't speak of the lobby or mention his reaction in the cafeteria that morning. "Showers are just down the hall. Catch them at the right time and the water's almost warm." She offered a half smile before biting her lip and surveying the tiny room. "I can sleep on the floor. Give you the bed."

"Don't have to do that. I'm used to the ground."

She studied the small floor with a quiet nod, choosing not to fight him on that. Carol worried that the more she said, the more uncomfortable he'd somehow become. Worried that somehow she'd drive him farther away.

Seconds ticked by as she fiddled with her sleeve.

"Got books," he observed. Daryl wasn't one to fill silence, but her sudden uneasiness put him on edge.

She ran one slender finger over a hardback cover on her desk. "Yeah. That's one good thing about a college. Plenty of reading material. Haven't cleared the library yet, but we've run in a few times." She lifted the cover an inch or so before letting it drop. "I read them at night when I get a chance."

Stepping closer, Daryl realized they were medical texts. Advanced ones, by the look of them. Likely filled with technical words and difficult material he'd never get through. Despite their difficulty, he saw that they were well worn with dog-eared pages, and that there were sheets and sheets of scratch paper filled with notes among them. It occurred to him that she'd been teaching herself what she could. He found himself wondering how exactly she'd arrived at this place.

Before he could even begin to consider voicing the thought, Carol reached for something on the set of plastic crates propped up by the side of the bed. "I got your other set of clothes washed up and ready to go." Her palm drifted over his folded vest. She smiled almost sadly down at the material in her hands. "You still have this," she observed softly, more to herself, he thought, than to him.

Daryl watched her fingers trace the angel wings.

"It suits you." She didn't look up, just lined and relined the feathers with her delicate hands. "I never told you that, but it does."

She bit her lips together tightly, like she was afraid more might slip past. Daryl had a hard time watching her, but a harder time turning away. He found himself almost scared to breathe.

At last, she nodded slightly to herself and pulled on a smile that broke the moment and made him need desperately to look away. She handed him the vest and his ancient pair of pants, stained but clean and dry. He accepted the garments with shaking hands.

Inhaling a ragged breath, Carol stretched her neck. "I'm gonna get myself cleaned up down the hall." She rubbed her empty palms against her thighs as she gathered herself once again. "There anything you need?"

A little overwhelmed, he shook his head. She left the tiny room, calling back to tell him that she'd only be a few minutes until she returned.

In her absence, Daryl stood in the middle of the tiny boxed space. The solitary chair next to the desk contained another pile of books, but he hesitated to move them. He briefly considered sitting on the bed, but that was _hers_ and he quickly discarded the thought. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the shrinking room, he briefly cursed himself for taking her up on this idea. At least in the camp he'd have had space. He wouldn't be standing here like a fool afraid to touch the simplest thing.

He was just getting up the courage to remove the books on the chair when Carol returned. She'd changed into some sort of soft black pants and a faded sweatshirt bearing the insignia of Christ the Redeemer. The same insignia that had been carved high above the entrance to the dorm. Daryl raised his eyebrows and she laughed. "Lot of redeeming going on around here. Great mascot for the end of the world." She scooped the books from the chair and added them to the pile on the desk. "You can sit down, you know."

Eyeing the now empty chair, he weighed his options. Eventually he chose the floor, consenting to rest his back against the side of her bed. He looked up in surprise when she followed suit, lowering herself to the floor right next to him. She sat so close their shoulders touched.

Daryl dangled his arms over his bent knees, lacing and unlacing his fingers. He knew that the time had finally come. The air grew quiet between them, and he found himself scared to lift his eyes away from his hands.

When he finally did, he found that she had mimicked his pose. His breath somehow felt too loud as it thundered inside of his ears.

Beside him, Carol let out a shaky sigh of her own. "Guess we can't put this off any more."

He didn't bother pretending to be confused. They'd been heading toward this moment since he'd walked through that gate. Had danced around it for the last two days. "Guess not." Still, he waited for her to offer the question. Somehow, it was hers alone to choose to ask.

She didn't look at him when she finally did. "What happened to the rest of them?"

He took his time in answering. Much as he'd known the question was coming, he still wasn't sure he was prepared to answer. Wasn't sure he could form the words. Wasn't sure he could tell her what was done. Dreaded, somehow, telling her what ran through his mind on that awful day.

Daryl studied his hands while he thought. He focused on them still when at last he spoke. "Sickness took most of the ones from Woodbury." They'd been old or young, sick when she'd gone off with Rick on that farce of a run, and the illness had run through them quicker than it had the rest.

But that wasn't what he needed to say.

"Got back from getting' the meds, and you weren't there."

Carol was silent beside him.

"Hershel…" He hated that his voice broke on the word. "Hershel said to talk to Rick. I shoulda done it right away." His head began to throb. "But I waited 'til later that day. Thought you was just in the other block and…" Daryl swallowed. "Shoulda knowed somethin' wasn't right." He pressed a fingernail into his palm. Studied the indent it left behind. "Rick...He said he _left_ you."

Beside him, Carol didn't make a sound. He wasn't sure whether or not to continue until she looked at him with her huge blue eyes, silently begging him to go on.

Daryl picked at a hangnail on the side of his thumb. Pulled at the skin until he began to bleed. "Coulda killed him for it. Was all just so damn fast…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Think sometimes I shoulda."

Carol shook her own head beside him. "No," she choked. "Rick did what he thought he had to do. What any of us would have done. He was protecting his own."

"You _was _his own!" He flinched at the loudness of his own words. Carol's shoulder shook beside him, and he willed himself to keep from shouting again. The apology he wanted to offer died on his tongue.

"He told me and I was just tryin' to figure how to get them ta…How to make it…" Daryl exhaled in frustration at his own useless words. Everything had swirled around him so damn fast on that fucking day. "Had to get to Tyreese. Make sure it was safe to bring you back. Had to find out if it was safe or if I'd have ta-" He cut himself off there. More had tumbled out, slipped past his lips than he'd meant to say. Certainly more than she'd have wanted to hear. The moon cast shadows on the ground across their boots.

The side of his thumb stung painfully as he continued pulling at the tiny strip of skin. "Just got to him when..." He swallowed and shook his head. In the silence, he closed his eyes against the words. "Governor came back."

Carol's head lifted. Her eyes widened in the moonlight. "What?" she breathed the word softly, like a plea.

"Just after Rick told me. Didn't even have a chance to..." He tried again, gritting his teeth. "Had a new group. An army," Daryl spit out the word with the bitterness of two years' hate. "Had a tank and a bunch of guns. Bunch a people under his thumb just like Woodbury. He took Hershel and Michonne. Had 'em right outside the gate. Beth an' Maggie standin' right there. Couldn't do nothing but try to…" He stopped then, trying to push back the image he'd never been able to shake. Beth's desperate cry still echoed in his ears. "Hershel…old man didn't have a chance. Fucker had Michonne's sword and -"

"Stop." He waited while she inhaled and exhaled and tried not to fall into a million brittle pieces. Her fingers clenched together, ghostly white in the darkness. "What happened then?"

"He came in with the tank. Everybody scattered. Was a couple days 'til I found more'n Beth. Most a the Woodbury people got on the bus. Guess they kept headin' south. Never run across them again. Ones what didn't…most didn't make it. Kids took off on their own. Me an' Beth found the ones what made it with Michonne a couple days later. That girl, Lizzie, other kids said she went down fighting. Her sister, too. Took one to the head when they came in. Fell over Jude. Saved the baby when she did."

The tears that had threatened finally broke through. She cried with a perfect silence that made him want to beg for a sound, some sort of tangible reaction from his position at her side. Carol wiped the wetness away with a shaking hand. "Judith…" she began.

"Was fine last I knew."

"She'd be walking by now. Talking, too. If she's…" Carol swallowed and shook her head to banish the thought. "What about the rest?"

He didn't answer right away. "Found Maggie and Bob just after the kids. Had Tyreese with 'em, but he didn't make it long. Glenn made his way back after that. He was on the bus, but I guess he came back for Maggie. Was sick for a long time after, but he pulled through okay in the end. Happened onto Rick and Carl a couple weeks later."

It was all so much to understand. "Where did you go?"

"Was on the road for a couple months. Beth weren't...it was hard for her after watching Hershel..." Daryl shrugged. "Never really came out of it after that."

Carol remembered, back to the farm.

"Lost Bob a week or two in. Found a place west of the prison. Used to be some sort of swimming complex. Had these high chain-link fences all around. Made a go of it there."

Carol nodded. She moistened her lips. "Why'd you leave?"

Daryl's thumb began to throb, but he kept on pulling at the skin. "We looked for you. Spent weeks lookin' on runs out from where we was stayin'."

"We?" Carol glanced up in confusion and what he thought seemed like hope.

"Rick for a while. Wanted to see if any of the Woodbury folk were out there too. Michonne knew the territory." He paused, and despite her desperation, she resolved to wait him out. "Things got rough. Maggie...guess she was pregnant when the Governor came. It didn't..." He didn't know how to finish the thought.

She nodded beside him, and he let the words die.

At last, he sighed and started again. "We was set up good as we could be, but it got harder to leave for that long. Kept goin' out farther and farther 'til we couldn't anymore."

Carol lowered her head. If only she'd waited. If only she hadn't run. She'd come to realize that's what she'd done. Run like someone was chasing after. She'd never bothered to think that maybe they were.

"Time came I had to make a choice. Figured maybe you'd headed north. Had to leave 'em at the complex. Set 'em up with food and supplies best as I could. They was set for the last winter. Took on a couple other people what happened by. Hoped they could help out. Don't know what happened after that."

In the silence, tears traced their way down her cheek.

"They're still out there." She whispered the words in something like disbelief. She studied her fingers laced in her lap. "Why did you..." and she found she couldn't voice the words. Couldn't ask him why he came.

Daryl remained still beside her. He still hadn't told her what he needed to say.

Carol inhaled a shaky breath. "I'm sorry you had to leave them. They were your family, too." She realized her tacit admission a moment too late.

Lowering his voice, he ground out the words. "Had to do it. Couldn't just... Told 'em I'd try to bring you home." He thought for a moment in the weighted stillness. "Don't know if there's still a home to get back to anymore."

She was quiet for a long time, reaching up to wipe the tears from her face. Her skin shone wetly in the moonlight. "If I could take it back, I would."

He shook his head in frustration and tried to calm the anger rising in his chest. He slapped one hand down hard on the wooden floor. "_Still_ don't get it, do ya?"

The words were suddenly harsh, and she looked at him questioningly, taken aback by his sudden burst of anger.

"I don't want ya to take it back!" The words pushed out through bitterly clenched teeth. "I was _glad_ you was gone!"

Her lips parted in surprise, but he barreled on.

"That day in the yard, I saw that tank and those guns. Saw Hershel and Michonne…All I could think was I was damned _glad_ you was gone. If you'd a been there, _you'd_ a been out there. Might a been you that..." He pounded his hand on the floor again, though not quite as hard. "I was glad you was gone…and then, after, I couldn't find you again."

The guilt that had burned through him for the last two years flared in the air between them. He'd felt _relief_ at her absence. And then, when that had passed, he'd felt somehow punished for his selfish sin.

"Daryl…" Carol blinked in tired disbelief. "None of what happened…" She stopped and turned to him in the dimming light. Guilt played out on his features as plain as the scar on his face. She unclenched her fingers, stretching them and weaving them back. "I might have been out there," she admitted calmly, "or maybe not. Either way… You couldn't have stopped any of it."

"If I'd a found you faster...coulda brought you back. Shoulda left soon as Rick told me 'stead a lookin' for Tyreese. Shouldn't a left on that run to begin with."

"Then we might have lost more. Without the drugs. Without you there to help."

He didn't acknowledge her words. "Shoulda saved Hershel, too. Shoulda shot that son-of-a-bitch Governor second I laid eyes on him. Shouldn't a listened to Rick. Same as when…I'd a just gone out I coulda brought _her_ back in time. Ya wouldn't a lost her, too."

Carol shook her head, tears welling up once again at the ghost of a girl that was always, forever bound between them. "None of that was your fault." He remained silent. "You know that, right? It took me a long time to realize...It wasn't Rick's fault either. None of it. It wasn't anybody's fault."

"Shoulda looked harder. 'Stead I lost you both."

"No," she swallowed through the tears and brought one hand up to turn his cheek. She felt the muscles clench under her hand, but finally he yielded, turning ever so slightly into her touch. "I told you once. You're a good man. You did more for her than anyone else. You did more for me than anyone else, too."

He tried to drop his head, but her hand held firm. His eyes found the floor, desperate to escape. "Didn't do enough."

"You're here," she said simply. Carol pulled back her hand.

His gaze flickered up for a moment before falling away.

"You found me, Daryl. Like you always do. That's so much more than enough."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Long Road Home**

"I should let you sleep."

Carol's words roused him from the trance like state that had overtaken both of them as their conversation drifted into silence. They'd each fallen into an exhausted quiet thought, the weight of the words between them heavy on both their minds.

They were _out_ there, most of them. _Maybe._ _Still._

_Still._ He came. Her mind spun over and over, always returning to that undeniable thought.

How long they'd sat like that, Daryl didn't know. His eyes burned and his back ached from his position leaning against the bed. Still, he moved away from her slowly, finding himself oddly comforted by the warmth of Carol's shoulder so near to his own. He was reluctant to leave it so quickly behind.

Rising as he did, Carol stretched and rubbed at her own eyes, reddened and a little swollen from the flood of silent tears she'd shed. "Oh!" He looked up at her startled exclamation. "I should check your shoulder." She was already rifling through a crate.

"Can wait 'til morning." Carol was practically dead on her feet, and he wasn't so sure he was far behind. His time on the wall and the heavy release of the words he'd shared with her pleaded for him to sleep. He cleared his throat of the painful dryness that had settled it over. "Don't need to do it now."

She shook her head. "Won't take a minute," and he noticed that her voice sounded just as raw as his own.

They were quiet again as she checked the wound. She did what was needed, then covered it once more with a bandage from what he guessed was her personal supply. "There," she smoothed the fabric down over the fresh layer of gauze. "Healing pretty well."

"Thanks." He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as he had done probably hours ago. Again, he was struck with that feeling of everything being out of place. Suddenly, the space seemed too small for both of them. He shifted over to the desk to let her pass as she made a move toward the bed.

Carol didn't seem to notice his discomfort. Removing the quilt from the mattress, she shook the patched fabric in the air and spread it on the floor. He saw what she meant to do and shook his head.

"Don't have to do that."

Carol gave him a look, and he saw the brutal pain of exhaustion mirrored in her eyes as it must have been in his own. He resolved not to fight her on this, if only to ease away one tiny battle from her whirling mind. "You're sleeping on the floor, Daryl. I think I can give up a blanket." She gave up more than one, pulling off a thin flannel cover as well. Daryl stopped her when she reached for the final sheet.

"Don't need anything else."

She paused with the sheet still in her hand. "Are you sure? Gets pretty cold in here at night. Wind comes right in through the edges of that window."

He snorted in response and proceeded to lower himself to the quilt and blanket waiting for him on the floor.

"If you're sure..." When he stared resolutely at the ceiling, she climbed into the bed and turned off the lamp.

Daryl squinted into the darkness and waited for his eyes to adjust. In the quiet, he wondered what it was his inept tongue was longing to say. In the end, he listened to Carol turn over twice, then to the soft sound of her breaths. When he was certain she was asleep, he took the extra blanket she'd given him and ever so slowly draped it over her form. She didn't stir. Satisfied, he returned to the floor, and after looping the quilt around him, closed his eyes.

He didn't sleep for a long time after that.

* * *

Carol opened her eyes to find the first rays of dawn bringing a blueish hue to the room. She felt exhausted. Her eyes were dry and swollen from the night before, but she was warm despite the chilliness of the room. Turning her head to the side, she looked down to find Daryl still on the floor. Still as he was, his blue eyes were wide open studying the ceiling. With his hands folded behind his head, he reminded her of that night in the RV, trying and failing to sleep on the floor. She'd kept him awake with her tears then, too.

"Morning," she offered, peeking over the edge of the bed.

"Mornin'," he greeted.

Carol eyed his position with some concern. "You better not be tearing out my stitches with your arms folded like that."

He huffed gently, but didn't choose to move. She took that as his assurance that his shoulder was fine.

The night before came back piece by piece as she slowly climbed into full awareness. Carol was left with the uncomfortable feeling that there was much more to be said, that somehow he'd been holding back. She let her head return to her pillow for a few seconds more before reluctantly pushing back the covers and sitting up. Finding herself cloaked in the blanket she'd given Daryl, she sighed. Her fingers drifted over the fabric. "You didn't have to do that," she said softly.

He watched her fingers worry the cloth. "Didn't need it. Thought you'd be cold." He, too, pushed himself to a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Always seemed like ya were...then."

Carol remembered with an involuntary shiver the cold dampness of the prison cells. She studied the muscles of his back as he leaned forward and stretched. There it was again. His simple kindness. So much of it to give, and yet he was convinced he had none at all. She sighed. "I'll pick up a couple more from the clinic today. Should have thought of it earlier."

Daryl shrugged and hopped to his feet. Gathering up the quilt, he somewhat awkwardly started to fold it, but couldn't seem to find a corner.

"Here," Carol slipped from the bed. She helped him wrangle the unwieldy material before making up her own bed as well. "I told Ali I'd be in early today, but I've got time to pick up some food before I go. You hungry yet?"

"I can get it." His words surprised her, stilling her hands as she worked.

"You sure?"

He nodded. It was stupid, he'd decided. A grown ass man scared to walk into a room just because there were some people. Besides, it wasn't like he had to stay in there. Just walk in, grab the plates, and go. He wasn't going to be some pussy what had to have a woman go get his food for him every single meal. Clearly, Carol had enough to manage without taking care of him, too. He eyed the textbooks on the desk.

"Okay," she agreed, still watching him with concern. "If you head over soon, might avoid the line."

He nodded at her unvoiced true concern. "Meet you over at the clinic when I'm done?"

"I'll be there. If you change your mind, I can grab it later...if you're not hungry yet."

She was offering him an out, and he knew it. Still, he opened the dorm room door in determination. "Back in a bit."

* * *

Daryl found his way through the halls and stairs to the building's exit. The sun was just rising over the hills, and to his relief most of the settlement still seemed to be asleep. It figured, he thought. Carol up before anyone else. Maybe she was right. Some things never did change with time.

Taking one more lungful of the bracing air, he opened the cafeteria door and stepped inside. He'd prepared himself for the drone of voices, the quick movements of too many people, the feel of strange elbows at his back. Instead, the place was practically deserted. Two old men occupied one corner while a tall Hispanic guy about his age sat drinking coffee from a chipped mug. Daryl felt himself relax. This, he could do.

Approaching the window, he found the same lady from the morning before, Rose. "Morning!" she greeted him with an easy smile.

"Mornin'."

"Sure is a cold one, isn't it? Almost feels like it could snow."

Daryl nodded along to her chatter as she handed him a plate.

"You're Carol's friend, aren't you?"

He looked up in surprise.

Rose chuckled. "This place is like a small town, only smaller. Everybody knows everybody else's business and then some."

Again, Daryl nodded mutely until he remembered. "I'm s'posed to bring her a plate, too."

Rose smiled even wider. "Of course, darlin'." She filled another plate. "Make sure she eats it. Poor girl gets so busy running around that clinic and out after supplies I don't think she gets half her meals." Daryl balanced both plates in his hand. "Nice that she has someone to look after her."

Still lacking an appropriate response, Daryl felt the heat rise on the back of his neck. "Thanks for the food," he managed before heading for the door.

* * *

"You get there okay?"

Carol's voice met him as he scraped open the clinic door. Daryl noticed Ali counting out some sort of pills in the corner, using the early sun to guide her work.

He nodded at the unspoken actual question between them. "No problem."

Carol's face warmed in his direction. "Good. Gonna need to eat for your first day of work."

He almost laughed. As if sitting on a wall was a day of work. Carol handed him a cup of that damned tea already steaming in a mug and cocked her head at the look on his face.

"Drink it or I'll make you stay here with old Mrs. Dearborn and her aching back."

He huffed and took a seat. "Fine." Watching her buzz around the room he spoke. "You gonna eat too?"

"Just as soon as I get the rest of the wraps rinsed and hung to dry."

Daryl scowled. Obviously, Rose was right. Woman had been running herself ragged. He couldn't help but wonder if the night she spent sitting in a chair by his bed had actually been a night of rest by her standards. His scowl deepened, but before he could say a word, Ali jumped in.

"I got it, Carol. Go ahead and eat." The girl shot Daryl a knowing look. "She won't sit unless you make her."

Despite her initial protests, Carol sat. Daryl watched until she'd downed every last bit of the flavorless oats. Simultaneously, she openly eyed his tea until the mug was drained.

"You two ain't much for conversation, are you?" Ali commented from across the room.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, but Carol only laughed. They'd been eating for a good five minutes without words, just a silent war of slowly emptying dishes. When Carol moved to get up, she made it no farther than three inches from her chair before Ali swooped by and none too gently reseated her by pressing one hand on her shoulder. "Sit," she ordered. "I'll take your plates when you're through."

Chastened, Carol sat, and Daryl found that maybe the girl wasn't so bad after all. She seemed to be good to Carol, and that made her okay in his book. Even if she was a smartass brat.

Daryl studied the bare table before him, wondering what exactly it was he was supposed to say. As she often did, Carol broke the silence.

"You sure you're okay to start on the wall today?"

"Hell, yeah. Ain't nothin' but sittin' up there starin' at the treeline. Walkers come, I take 'em down long enough for the crew to run for cover."

"It's cold out there."

He snorted. "Ain't much better in here." That much was true. The wind whipped right through the older buildings.

"Still...if you-"

"I'm fine, woman. If I ain't, I reckon you'll patch me up."

Carol rolled her eyes. "The point is I'd rather not have to."

"It'll be fine." He rose from the table. "Best be headin' over."

She stood as well and offered him a smile. "See you later, then?"

He nodded. "Come by here when I'm done?" It slipped out as more of a question that he'd intended, but he found himself unsure of his place. Unsure how all of this was going to work.

"Sounds good," she nodded easily, and he felt somehow embarrassed by his initial concern.

Daryl hoisted his crossbow on his back and made his way toward the door. Just as his hand reached the knob, her voice stilled him in place.

"Stay safe."

The breath left him at the words. Carol bit her lip, eyes wide. _Stay safe. _The words slipped out thoughtlessly from between her lips. They'd passed so easily between them two years before. Now, she found herself terrified at their familiar, long-absent sound.

His fingers danced on the knob. "Always do," he finally choked.

Daryl scraped open the clinic door and vanished into the day.

* * *

**A/N: I hope everyone who celebrates is having a happy holiday week! Apologies for the lateness of this and lack of replies to some of your questions. Christmas ate my life. :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We're expanding our little community here, just a teeny bit. Daryl's coming to realize a few things, too. It is, as always, a very long road for our couple. Thank you so much to those of you sticking with me on their journey! I promise they will get there in the end.**

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

"You Dixon?"

He turned toward the sound of his name. A younger man with darkly tanned skin and coal-black eyes, maybe mid-twenties, took a few jogging steps over from the group mingling near the gate.

"Daryl," he clarified, lifting his chin in cautious greeting. After leaving Carol at the clinic, _stay safe_ still echoing vaguely through his thoughts, he'd headed over to the area where Bernard had said the work crew gathered.

The young man grinned. "Could tell by the bow. Not too many of those around." He offered a hand in introduction. "I'm Matthew."

After only a moment's hesitation, Daryl gripped the offered hand.

Matthew winced slightly and cocked his head. "We actually met the night you came in. I should apologize for that eye." He gestured to the bruise still blooming on Daryl's skin. "Meant nothing personal. Just had to have your weapons, and you weren't much for giving them up. Bad off as you were, you put up quite a fight."

Daryl hesitated for a moment, sizing up the man before him. Finding only sincerity, he shook his head. "Naw, man. You was protectin' what was yours. I'd a done the same. No fault in that."

Matthew nodded his acceptance before turning his gaze toward the crossbow. "Heard you're really something with that thing. Glad to have you on the crew."

"Does the job," Daryl shrugged, anxious to get started. Small talk had never been his strength.

"Let's hope so," Matthew grinned. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew." He led Daryl over to where the others were assembled and gathering up their gear. "Big fella's Pete. Jonesy's the one without any hair."

"Still better lookin' than you," Jonesy shot back with a smirk.

With a good-natured chuckle, Matthew continued. There were six in all, not counting Daryl. Jonesy and Pete seemed the most talkative outside of Matthew. One named Red never said a word, but offered a bobbing nod when introduced. Daryl didn't like the look of small man Matthew called Mike, nor did he like the way Mike's eyes narrowed in some form of irritation at his presence. Finally, there was Charlotte, a woman who, Daryl observed, could give Michonne a run for her money any day. He was surprised to see a woman on the fence crew, but after watching the way she carried herself he didn't doubt she'd outwork most of the men.

"How's this work?" he asked once the introductions had concluded.

"Two men on lookout up in the stand, five on the ground," Matthew explained. "I'll head up there with you first today."

"Can cover it on my own." He hadn't known he'd be sitting in a lookout with someone else.

Matthew shook his head. "Two at a time. That's what we decided, and that's how it is at least for now. Best way to keep everyone breathing."

Shrugging, Daryl acknowledged the plan. He wouldn't trust his back to a newcomer either. Matthew proceeded to give instructions to the rest of the group, and Daryl found himself surprised at the assurance of the much younger man. "Goal for today is extend past the far corner of the dorm. Don't spread it too thin, though. No use havin' a fence if it won't hold."

Mike stepped forward and spit in the dirt. He eyed Daryl as he spoke with a deliberate, accusing drawl. "Might go faster if Robin Hood here helped on the wall, 'stead o' coolin' his heels up in the loft."

"Two at a time," Matthew repeated, his eyes narrowing for the first time. Daryl detected a tension between the two men. "It's the last time we're talkin' 'bout this."

"Yes, boss," Mike drew out the _s_ in a mockery of submission before turning on his heel and sidling away. The others followed after, leaving Matthew and Daryl alone to climb up to the crow's nest tower.

"Mike's a son-of-a-bitch," Matthew explained matter-of-factly as they reached the top. "But he's got some construction experience and he's an able body, and that's something we are desperate need of around here."

"Can always stick an arrow in his ass." Daryl surprised himself with the words. Usually he was quiet around new people, but something about Matthew put him at ease.

The younger man grinned over his shoulder as Daryl reached the top. "I'd buy me a ticket to that show." Sobering, Matthew gestured below to where the crew was exiting from the main gate. "We're on." Daryl readied his bow. "We see anything," Matthew explained, "I give you first shot. If we can stop it without drawing in more, that's ideal. If there's too many or you miss, I take out the rest." He adjusted the rifle in his hand.

"Won't miss," assured Daryl, drawing a bolt.

"Good." The grin was back. "Then I got myself an easy morning."

* * *

The next hour passed fairly uneventfully. It wasn't until the crew took their first water break that a pair of walkers finally appeared. Daryl spotted them before they broke the tree line and had them down before Matthew even hoisted the gun to his shoulder.

Below them, Jonesy offered a muted round of applause. "Thinkin' Mike was right. You is Robin Hood!" Daryl reloaded his bow in readiness for more.

"Not bad," praised Matthew. "You want the arrows back?"

"Get 'em when the shift is done. No sense runnin' back and forth."

Matthew nodded as he surveyed the walkers laid out far across the way. "That worked well. Before you showed up, one of the ground crew would have had to run out there to take them out with a knife. That, or we use the rifle and loose a morning's work when it draws more." He smirked good-naturedly. "Might be worth keeping you around, Dixon."

They kept watch in silence for a time, before Matthew began to offer up a few words. Gesturing toward the crew on the ground, he explained. "Red's been with us almost since it started. He don't talk, but he ain't stupid. Something wrong with his throat, probably since he was a kid. Saved my ass more than once. My mama's, too." He stretched his neck before he went on. "Jonesy and Pete are alright. Pete says he was a wrestler back when things were normal. Some sort of semi-pro gig with a costume and everything." He laughed softly. "Can believe that or not, but he's a good guy."

"How 'bout Mike?" Daryl watched as the man's narrow eyes drifted up his way. They'd seemed to do that a little too often over the course of the morning.

Matthew's cheerful countenance darkened. "Only been here about a month. Came in with a group of about six. No-good types, most of them. Still living in the outer camp. Can't say I'd call him a friend." He shook his head. "Got a lot of people here at Haven, but most of them are too old or young to do the heavy work. Leaves us with some questionable company." Changing the subject, he went on. "Charlotte's something else. Drink any man I've ever seen under the table." He chuckled. "Don't ask me how I know that."

Daryl already had a pretty good idea. More time passed, and with it the rapid fire end of three more walkers. Stragglers, each of them, appearing from the trees.

"Matthew?" Daryl started as a voice called up to them from the inside of the wall.

Matthew rolled his eyes at the sound, but smiled just the same. "Yeah, Ma?"

"Sweetie, come over here for a second. Got something to pass up to you."

Daryl turned in recognition of the voice. Rose. Matthew's dark skin and easy leadership of the other men fell into place.

"Be right back," the younger man turned away to scramble down the ladder. When he returned, he offered Daryl a steaming mug, another clenched in his own hand.

Daryl inhaled. He had to admit the coffee smelled wonderful in the cold morning air. Certainly better than that tea Carol kept giving him. He stiffened, though, and put down the mug as Rose edged out the gate, delivering coffee to the working crew as well.

"That's your ma?" His eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of trouble.

Matthew nodded. "When she's claiming me." As he talked, he searched the trees. "I was just a hotheaded kid when this all started. Dropped out of college, got in some trouble. Fights, couple run-ins with the law." He sipped gingerly from the steaming mug. "Took a lot of shit as a kid growing up where I did. Parents being who they were. Looking the way they did." Daryl could imagine. "Guess I was trying to fight back ten years too late."

Daryl's thoughts drifted to Merle before he could push them away.

"Gave them a hard time when I was growing up. But just as soon as I heard about people getting sick," Matthew continued, "I high-tailed it right back to my mama's house without a second thought. Not sure if I thought they'd fix it all for me or if I'd help them." He let out a breath of relief as Rose let herself back in the gate. "Guess I'm just lucky I got there in time."

"Seem like good people," Daryl finally offered.

"They are. Never gave them credit for it before, but they are. We started up this place almost two years back. Just a few of us then. Most've stayed, some moved on. Some decided to try their luck farther out." Matthew squinted into the sun. "You got family out there?"

Daryl shifted at the question. "My brother didn't make it." Scuffing the makeshift floor with his boot, he shrugged. "Was all the family I had before it started."

"How 'bout now?" Off Daryl's confused look, he clarified. "Red's as much my family now as ma and pa. Family don't have to mean blood. You get attached to people. They get under your skin 'til you can't leave 'em behind, even if you try."

Daryl was almost relieved when the edge of the tree line wavered, then shifted with the approaching dead. Six of the monsters appeared, making their way steadily toward the crew on the ground. Matthew signaled to the crew with a low whistle in case they'd need to run. Rifle at the ready, he waited while Daryl took them down.

"Damn, Dixon. Carol wasn't lyin' when she told my pa you were good."

* * *

He'd had to retrieve the arrows midway through his shift. He needed to make more, build up a better supply. It had felt good to stretch his legs and run to gather them, but as the sun tilted toward afternoon, he started to feel the sum total of the day's tension and activity weighing him down.

Still, Daryl tried to protest when Pete hauled himself up the ladder to take Matthew's place after lunch. "Told ya, I can work down on the fence the rest of the shift."

"No way, man," Matthew disagreed. "Carol would have my head. I do not want to piss her off."

Pete laughed at his words as he settled in. "What he means is, when Carol is pissed, so's Ali." He nudged Matthew with an oversized elbow. "Ain't that how it is."

"Shut it, Pete," Matthew said through a grin. Clearly, the kid had a thing for the clinic girl. He turned back to Daryl. "You'll be down there lifting bricks with the rest of us suckers soon enough."

Daryl nodded in defeat. "I'll get some more bolts. Have 'em ready for tomorrow."

"Alright, man." Matthew swung himself over the ladder. "Keep that bow ready."

* * *

The rest of the shift passed much the same. After leaving the wall in the red light of the setting sun, Daryl found himself a little uncertain just what to do. Finally, his footsteps turned without his consent back to the clinic.

Pushing open the heavy door, he found Carol alone and sorting through a stack of supplies. She looked up at him in surprise as he startled her from the task. "How'd it go?"

He shifted at her quiet smile. Something like relief passed through him like a wave."Went fine. Coulda helped on the fence, though."

She rolled her eyes. "Mmm..." Carol shifted one box over to make room for another on the table before her. "How's your shoulder?" In the lamplight, she studied the label on a box of pills.

"It's fine." It was, actually, a lot more sore than he liked, but Daryl sure as hell wasn't going to tell her that. "You, uh, you need help with that?" He eyed the boxes she'd drug across the floor.

Carol offered him a weary smile. "Almost done. Actually, that's the problem. Supplies are getting low. Gonna have to head out to find more."

"What do ya need?"

She sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. "Everything. Hard to keep almost a hundred people well and fed. Plus the ones that drift through. Seems like we've never got enough of anything. I don't know where it all goes."

"There towns nearby?"

"Most of the closest ones are searched out. Last few months, we've been heading farther and farther north. Was thinking we might try west next."

_We._ The word didn't fall on deaf ears. "You go with 'em?"

She looked at him calmly. "When I need to." His eyebrows pulled together in a frown, and Carol sighed. "We all do our part, Daryl."

He scowled toward the floor. "Seems like you're doin' more than most."

"I'm _doin'_," the word was punctuated as she hefted up another box, "just fine."

He fidgeted with the bag of materials she'd brought him for more bolts. "I can make a run for ya. Give me a list and I can find it."

Carol smiled softly in that way that always seemed to make his stomach flip. "I don't doubt you would. But that's a ways off anyway. Besides," she leaned against the edge of the desk. "I kind of like having you around. Not sure I want to send you away just yet."

Heat crawled up the back of his neck as he automatically lowered his eyes. She was teasing him, of course. Only, when he dared to let his eyes flicker up to hers, he got the feeling that this time, maybe she wasn't.

Carol wrapped her arms around her waist, a gesture that only served to remind him just how tiny really she was. "I just..."

When she didn't continue, he narrowed his eyes and dared a glance up.

Blushing, she bit her lip and tried again for the words. "I missed you." She swallowed as the room began to shrink, growing ever smaller until she felt as though she couldn't even breathe. "I'm glad you stayed."

Daryl was sure she could hear his heart thudding inside of his heaving chest. It seemed like every move he made was exaggerated in the silence of the room. His teeth clenched when he ground out the words. "Missed you, too."

He wouldn't have believed he really said it if not for the surprised little hitch in her breath. Daryl didn't _miss_ people. They left or he left, but either way, he moved on. No sense _missing_ things that were gone.

Only, he'd started to realize, maybe that wasn't entirely true.

He'd missed Carol. He'd more than missed her. He'd ached at her absence for the two years it took him to find her. Right up until the moment he'd instinctively grabbed her and pulled her against him that first night just inside the gate. And now, for the first time, he started to wonder if maybe she'd felt that same ache, too.

She stared at him then for what seemed like hours. He wanted to crawl up in a ball and roll right out the door and away from those eyes.

Carol sensed his rising panic and decided against pushing her luck. At last, she exhaled half a laugh and maneuvered herself away from the desk in an effort to brush off the weight of the words. "Well," and it seemed to Daryl she was wiping her eyes, "I better get you some tea. Can't have been good for that cough to be out -"

But she was interrupted by the scrape of the door and yet another patient to be seen.

Still reeling from the weight of words he couldn't believe he'd spoken, Daryl retreated somewhat gratefully to a corner of the room and settled himself out of the way. Reaching for the bag, let himself fall into the rhythmic task of shaping his bolts.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Long Road Home**

It was late by the time he finally followed Carol back to the room she'd insisted they share.

He'd made good progress on the bolts, stopping only briefly to have some food and another mug of that god awful tea, then to help Carol drag a few heavy crates up the clinic stairs to storage in a closet nearby. His stitches had pulled and the muscle beneath screamed at the effort, but after watching her thin frame struggle he pushed back the pain and practically tore them out of her small hands.

And all the while, he turned the words over and over in his mind. _She missed him. He'd missed her._

Crossing the narrow courtyard, he found himself a half step behind Carol, eyes scanning the darkness and bow at the ready. Out in the temporary camp, a few of the kids were playing a lenient game of soccer with a couple of teens and a battered volleyball. Daryl could just pick out the limping jog of that kid he'd seen the first day he'd been up and around. The gentle laughter from the game drifted across the night air. Across the way, he just made out Matthew and Ali disappearing behind the cafeteria wall. The blonde girl laughed softly as she tugged at Matthew's willing hand. Daryl half-rolled his eyes.

"I think it's nice," murmured Carol beside him.

He turned at the words.

She nodded toward where the couple had disappeared. "The two of them. Having something to enjoy...look forward to. I think it's nice."

Inhaling to speak, Daryl stopped himself when he found he didn't know what to say. Watching them together, he'd felt some strange sense of _wishing_ he couldn't quite place.

Carol changed the subject. "You know the whole point of the fence is to keep the walkers out." She looked back with a bemused smile, her eyes flickering to his raised weapon. "Not sure you need that here."

He shrugged but he also didn't lower the bow. He kept it ready, in fact, until they entered the dorm and reached her tiny room. Daryl couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that walkers, these days, were the least of their threats. Carol pulled the dorm room door shut behind them and lit a lamp. Once again he found himself standing awkwardly in the center of her things.

"I, uh," he chewed his lip. Carol looked at him expectantly, and he lost his train of thought. Her cheeks blushed red from their short trek through the cold, making her eyes seem that much bluer in contrast. She shrugged out of her huge coat, her small frame dwarfed by its bulky mass. _She missed him. _He shook his head and looked away. A moment later he cleared his throat. "I thought I'd get a shower before I turn in."

She quirked her head at his words, marveling that he looked for all the world like he was asking for her permission to leave. "Okay. Take a lamp - there isn't any light down that way."

Nodding, he gathered up his second set of clothes from their temporary home on top of a crate and turned for the door.

"Daryl?"

He turned to find her extending a bottle in his direction with a soft smile on her face.

"Soap?" she offered.

He accepted the bottle with a nod and stepped to the hall, somewhat embarrassed by the interaction but unable to put the reason into words. The back of his neck felt strangely warm. _It's just Carol_ he told himself. _She missed you, nothing more. Nothing to get all school kid crush over_. But somehow, he had the uncomfortable feeling that that had been exactly what it was. A school kid crush she couldn't possibly return. But, _she missed him._ Exhaling a shaky breath, he headed down the hall.

The water felt amazing. Not quite what he'd call warm and barely a trickle as it dripped and dribbled from the rusting shower head, but amazing even so. He'd washed up as best he could the last couple of nights, but to the best of his memory, it was the first time in months that he'd really felt clean.

Careful to avoid his bandaged shoulder, he dunked his head one more time and turned off the spray. Dressing himself as quick as he could in the cold, he headed back to Carol's room, wiping droplets off her soap bottle along the way.

She was perched on her bed reading one of those heavy medical books when he came in. A pad and paper rested next to her side. Daryl edged through the door, placing her soap back on a crate.

Resting a finger on the page to keep her place, she looked up at his entrance. "Enjoy your shower?"

He nodded, carefully draping the towel he'd used over her chair. That unnamed embarrassed feeling was back again, and his fingers faltered with the fabric.

She watched him, taking in the way the water now dripping from his hair had soaked through the neck of his shirt. He swiped the wet strands impatiently away from his eyes.

Carol pulled back a smile. "Might be time for a haircut," she observed mildly. Her eyes drifted back to the book. "Unless you don't _like_ seeing where you're going."

He grunted, but had to admit she was probably right.

When he didn't outright refuse, she continued. "I'll get some scissors tomorrow and see what I can do." She paused, suddenly a little unsure. Her attention fluttered back up to him. "If that's okay?"

"Fine by me. Just don't want one of them buzz cuts."

She settled back with her book once more, hiding her grin behind its pages. The things that ran through the man's head...

Meanwhile, Daryl took in for the first time the bed she'd made up for him on the floor. "You leave any damn blankets at that clinic?"

"I didn't want you to be cold."

"Ain't no chance of that..." he muttered, eyeing the impressive pile on the floor. It must have been six inches high. "Here." He reached down and selected one. "Don't need all this." Daryl deposited a pink and purple flannel on top of Carol's bed. "All girly anyway," he muttered.

She shook her head at the reason, but accepted the blanket nonetheless.

A few minutes later, Daryl stretched out on the floor and she reached for the lamp.

He looked over in surprise. "Don't have to turn it off. I mean...if ya ain't ready." He felt strange, somehow, disturbing her routine.

Carol's fingers waited, poised at the switch. "You've had a long day."

"I can sleep with it on."

"You sure?"

He shot her a look in response. Daryl was more tired - exhausted, really - than he wanted to say. It certainly wasn't the worst of conditions he'd slept in over the past several years.

"Okay, then." Slowly, she withdrew her hand away from the lamp. "I'm just going to try to get through the end of this section. Let me know if it bothers you."

"Won't bother me," he assured. "Just don't stay up all damn night. Ya need sleep, too."

A slow warmth flooded her chest at what she recognized as concern. "I won't."

"Good," he huffed, rolling on his side.

A moment later, he heard her voice again. "Goodnight, Daryl."

He exhaled, finding more comfort in those words than he cared to admit. "'Night."

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out when they were both jerked awake to the banging on their door. Scrambling up from the pallet of blankets, he reached on instinct for his bow and found himself standing with a bolt ready in the dark, aimed toward the intrusive noise.

"Carol?" An unfamiliar voice called through the door. The pounding once again resumed. He struggled to kick the quilting away from his feet.

"Just a second." Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed Carol had slipped from the covers of her own bed and was making her way toward the door. Instinctively, he moved to stop her, but Carol placed a warning hand on his arm. "It's okay," she whispered. Carol didn't elaborate as she reached for the handle, but he still found himself unwilling to lower the bow.

Lamplight trickled in through the crack as she opened the door. He angled himself for a better view - a better shot - through the gap. Two men stood in the hallway. Both were breathing hard. The first one, unfamiliar to Daryl, spoke to Carol.

"Got one in bad shape. Collapsed just outside the outer camp."

"Is he bit?" Carol was already turning for her boots.

"Don't know. Just took him to the clinic."

Daryl kept the bolt trained on the unfamiliar man, who didn't seem fazed by the wordless threat. He didn't miss, though, the identity of the man behind him holding the lamp. Mike's pinched face eyed Daryl with suspicion and Carol with something else that turned his gut.

"I'll be right there." Carol spoke a few more soft words to the men before closing the door and tugging on a heavy sweatshirt over the clothes she'd slept in. "It's fine, Daryl." Only then did he realize he still clutched the bow. She laced up her boots. "I'll be back when I can."

"I'll come with ya." He reached for his poncho, but Carol shook her head.

"You should sleep. I can handle this."

He shrugged the garment over his head. "Ain't letting you go over there alone with some stranger."

"Tim and Mike will stay until they're sure it's fine." Daryl scowled at the mention of that asshole's name, but Carol was too busy pulling on her coat to notice.

He stepped to the door and opened it for her, following her doggedly into the hall. Scanning the floor, he found himself relieved to see the two men nowhere in sight.

"Daryl," she sighed and studied her feet. It looked like she'd say more, but instead she shook her head. "Okay," she agreed. He steadied the bow. "Let's go."

* * *

There was blood. A lot of blood. Daryl thought from the second he laid eyes on the man they'd drug in that this was a lost cause. He figured Carol could see it too, but she went right to work like it was patching up a badly skinned knee.

"What happened to him?"

Mike answered, but his eyes narrowed at Daryl while he spoke. "Crawled up to the camp fence. I saw him out there, bleedin' like this. Then Tim came up and we hauled him in." He rubbed his nose and sniffed. "He gonna make it?"

Carol pursed her lips as she worked. "Too soon to tell."

The man called Tim stepped forward to peer at the wound. "He ain't bit, is he?"

"I don't think so," Carol muttered distractedly as she worked quickly to remove the man's shirt. "No, doesn't look like it."

Tim helped her lift the man to farther remove the cloth. "Then where's all the blood from?"

It soaked the fabric of his shirt, pooling in dark rivers on the man's chest. "Looks like a knife wound, maybe."

Tim squinted at the man's face. "Looks familiar. I think he's spent some time in the camp. Wonder what the hell he was doing outside of the fence."

As Carol reached for some towels, the clinic door scraped open and Ali swept in.

"Find that roll of the good gauze," Carol ordered calmly without looking up. "And I need more light over here."

When neither man made an effort to move and with Ali occupied at a drawer, Daryl finally lowered his bow and claimed a lamp. He edged nearer Carol until she motioned for him to stand directly beside her. "Here." She guided his arm into place.

He stood that way for what felt like hours. Eventually, seeing that the stranger wasn't likely to pose a threat, Tim and Mike left to head back to the camp. Daryl watched as Carol's face grew graver and graver as the time passed. Ali's expression did the same. Daryl's arm ached from holding up the light, but at last she indicated he should set down the lamp. "There's nothing else we can do," she said. Turning to Daryl and Ali, she offered them each an exhausted smile. "I can clean up and watch him from here. You two should head on out. Sleep while you can."

Ali sighed her agreement. "I'll take over in a few hours." She squeezed Carol's arm and reached for her coat.

"Just get some sleep." Carol rubbed at her eyes. "He'll be out a while at least."

Bidding them both goodbye, Ali slipped out the door.

Daryl observed the man before him. "You want to move him to a bed?" They'd laid the man out on a table in the outer room.

Carol shook her head. "Doubt he'd live through it. We can move him later if we have to." She watched the man, lost for a moment. Eventually, she blinked back to the present.

"You should go, too." Carol turned to Daryl, who was busy worrying the skin of a thumb. "I can manage this."

Daryl shrugged. "I can stay."

"There's no reason for that." Carol rinsed her hands in a basin of water and reached for a towel. "If he wakes up, he won't exactly pose a threat."

"And if he don't ever wake up?"

She offered him a sad smile. "Then I do what I have to do."

He nodded at the reality. "Can wait with ya," he offered.

"You don't have to."

"I know."

Carol sighed. She indicated an ancient couch that must have once been part of the office set. Daryl eased himself back onto the torn leather, and found himself more than a little surprised when she sank down next to him with her thigh resting right up against his own. Together, they watched the hesitant breaths of the man before them.

Minutes passed until eventually, Carol spoke. "You never told me how you got that wound on your arm."

Daryl shifted, his knee bumping gently against hers. "Just ran across the wrong people. Nothin' more to it than that."

She lowered her head to study her hands. "You think he could have run across the same wrong people?"

"Hard to say. Could've been anyone, anywhere what done it. Don't need to be a reason anymore."

"Yeah," she sighed sadly, leaning her head back against the couch, resisting a strange longing to rest her temple against his broad shoulder. "Could have been anyone," she echoed. "Ain't that the truth."

* * *

A couple hours later, the first stains of sunrise lightened the room. Carol rubbed her burning eyes and checked for the millionth time, Daryl thought, the status of her patient. His breathing had become steadily shallower as the night had passed. Little doubt remained as to his fate. Shaking her head grimly, Carol came to sit next to Daryl on the couch once more. "You should head out soon," she said quietly. "Work starts up on the fence pretty early."

Daryl nodded, knowing she was right. "You sure you're okay here?"

"I'd have been fine here all night." He ducked his head in something like hurt, and her gaze softened at the unintentional blow. "But I'm glad you stayed," she quickly amended.

He nodded, taking in her tired eyes. He'd been sure, a few times, that she'd been about to fall asleep beside him. Had wondered, however briefly, if she'd lay her head against his shoulder. Had wished, just a little, that maybe she would.

Carol inhaled, breaking his thoughts. "Anyway, Ali will be in any minute. Old Mrs. Dearborn too, most likely."

"Shame to miss that." Reluctantly, Daryl rose and headed for the door. She followed him slowly, and he worried at how tired she looked. Turning as he left, he bit his lip. "I'll see ya later."

She smiled wearily as he closed the door.

* * *

Daryl had been among the first to gather near the gate that morning. Red bobbed his head in smiling greeting at his arrival, and Rose dropped off several mugs worth of strong coffee for them each, promising to return mid-morning with refills. One by one they gathered. Mike arrived last of all, earning a disapproving glance from Matthew.

"First full light is what we agreed," the younger man stated.

"My apologies, boss." Mike smacked his teeth.

"Lost daylight waiting on you. That's lost work, and not the first time, either."

Mike's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't sleep much out there in the camp." He spoke to Matthew, but his eyes focused menacingly on Daryl. "Ain't all of us got a nice warm bed at night. Let alone someone to share it with."

Daryl felt the heat rise in his stomach at the man's assumption, but Matthew dismissed the group before he had a chance to react.

Aside from that incident, the day on the wall passed much as the one before it had. Daryl found himself growing to like Matthew more and more. He also grew to appreciate Red's silent company up on the wall. The man's condition left no room for small talk, but he had a good humor and intelligence about him that set Daryl at ease. Eventually, the sun fell from the sky and the day's work was done.

After climbing down from the crow's nest, he'd gone with Matthew to take a look a two of the cars the settlement claimed as their own. They had a small fleet of several that ran and were hoping for more. He had some idea what was needed to get them up and running, and Matthew and an older man named Ted were eager for his input.

Ted, it turned out, liked to talk about his cars, his daughter, and everything else under the sun. He also didn't need much in the way of a response to keep him going. It was fully dark by the time Daryl finally made his way back to the clinic. He was surprised to find Carol alone when he returned. She was folding a sheet as he entered, but greeted him with a tired smile.

"Hey," he offered. The beds were empty, he noticed. So was the table. No trace of the man from the night before remained.

Carol's brief words followed his thoughts. "Happened late this morning," she confirmed.

"You okay?" He wasn't sure why he asked. Obviously she was okay. She must have taken care of things before the man turned. Still, there was something in the way she stood that made him need to know.

"I'm fine, Daryl."

He nodded. "'Bout ready to head out?"

"Almost. Just a couple things to finish up. You can go if you'd like." She reclaimed the sheet. "You eat any supper?"

He shook his head. "You?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head. The sheet slipped out from under her fingers, and she sighed in frustration. Daryl stepped forward to adjust the offending corner. "Thanks."

"You stay here all day?"

Carol nodded.

"Thought Ali was comin' back."

"She did. There was a lot to do. For what good it did."

He didn't like the defeat in the words. "Did what you could."

"I know. I just wish I could do more." The words hearkened back to her hovering over his bed at the farm. She reached for a crate and made to hoist it up onto a desk.

"Hey," the edge in his voice stilled her quickly. His forehead wrinkled at the crate. "Can it wait 'til tomorrow?"

Carol exhaled, her shoulders falling. She planted her palms on the desk and lowered her head to look between them. With her head dropped like that, he couldn't see her face. She didn't speak, and he shifted his weight.

"C'mon," he nodded toward the door, fighting the urge to hold out his hand.

With a slow nod, she stepped forward to claim her coat and moved toward the door.

He paused before her when they reached it. He worried his thumb, then looked nervously to Carol standing defeated before him. His eyes narrowed in careful thought as he thought back to her earlier words. "You always..." He removed his thumb. "You always done _more_ too. Just...don't think ya ain't."

He didn't elaborate, but tears filled her eyes nonetheless.

"C'mon." Embarrassed, he scraped open the clinic door. "Ya need some rest."

Even through the bulky coat, she found herself comforted by his hand at the small of her back.


	10. Chapter 10 - Hunting - Part 1

**A/N: There's a bit of a time jump here and a little more from Carol's point of view. As always, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

As the days slipped into weeks, they fell into a sort of rhythm.

Carol passed her days in the clinic and about the camp, looking after its residents as best as she could. Daryl, having spent just under a week in the crow's nest, declared himself healed and started up work down on the fence.

He'd been somewhat frustrated to find the task exhausting at first. His strength simply wasn't what it was before, and he still found himself caught off guard by the coughing fits that would periodically seize his chest - worse with the cold or when he was tired. Over time, though, the throbbing pain in his shoulder settled into numbing discomfort and the fits were less and less.

In the evenings, he'd join old Ted in working on the cars until the dying light forced them to stop. He'd listen to the man brag about his daughter – all grown up and a doctor somewhere out west – and nod along to the stories while they tinkered with the cars. Other times, he'd work with Red or Matthew or some of the others on whatever tasks needed done.

Later, he'd make his way over to the clinic and slip inside as quietly as he could. If there were patients, Carol would offer him a quick smile that never failed to warm his chest. He'd settle himself in the corner with his bolts or a gun that needed fixing and wait for her to finally be through. At last they'd retire across the camp and back to her room. When the water was working, he'd scrub himself quickly before settling in to his nest on her floor. Sometimes, they slept until morning. More often than not, they'd be roused by an urgent pounding, and he'd doggedly follow her back to the clinic despite her protests.

Carol looked up as he scraped through the clinic door a little later than usual one evening. Her hands were half in the water she used to wash out the gauze. "Hey," she smiled up at him. "Everything okay? Thought you'd have been here by now." She wrung out the cloth, then dunked it again.

"It's fine." He pulled the door closed behind him in a futile attempt to shut out the chill. They'd used up what supplies they had on the wall. Work couldn't continue until they found more, and that would require a run. Daryl had eagerly offered to scout for supplies, but in the end he and Bernard had settled on a different plan. "Was just doin' some planning." In truth, he'd been chewing an idea over and over in his mind. He wasn't quite sure how to ask. "I'm uh..." Daryl swallowed and tried again. "I'm gonna hunt some. Tomorrow."

Carol looked up in mild curiosity before returning to the task at hand.

"Pete and Jonesy and some of the others are gonna make a run to that construction site. Can't go much farther on the wall without more supplies."

"You're not heading out with them?" She laid out a strip of cloth on a makeshift drying rack.

Daryl shook his head. "Said I would, but they already got plenty of 'em going. They done it before and got a system." He scratched his neck. "Was talking to Bernard 'bout hunting some. Thought some fresh meat might be good. They get the supplies for the wall and we'll likely be on it 'til it's done. Don't know when I'll get the chance to hunt again."

Carol's mouth practically watered at the idea of something other than the usual fare. She knew that logically whatever he caught would end up in a stew, meager portions of meat shared by the entire camp. Still, there would be meat for a change. "That would be nice," she admitted. "You sure you're up to it?"

He shot her the same look he'd been throwing to variations of that question for the past several weeks. Carol chuckled and raised her dripping hands slightly in mock surrender. "I guess so," she allowed with a grin.

Daryl shifted on his feet, unsure why exactly he suddenly felt so awkward asking the question. "If ya want..." She looked at him with her eyes all wide and he stuttered to a stop. "Was thinkin' maybe you'd wanna come." Far too aware of how stupid that sounded, like he was asking her on some kind of _date _or something, he lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Hunting?"

The disbelief in the word only made him wince even more. Of course it was a stupid idea. He shook his head, but before he could speak she continued.

"Daryl, you know I'd be absolutely no help out there."

He scowled. That wasn't true. "Know more than most a the rest of 'em."

"I'm not so sure about that..." She took her time drying her hands, then ducked her head to search for his lowered eyes. "Why would you want me out there?"

Daryl shrugged in discomfort. "Just thought maybe a day out of here'd be..." He let the words trail off as he dared to survey the cramped clinic room where she spent all her time. "You're always doin' for everyone else." He reached to scratch the embarrassed, itchy back of his neck and changed tactics. "And they're always going on about how no one goes out alone. Thought maybe you'd watch my back."

Carol nodded slightly, letting the possibility of a day _away_, outside the walls, sink in. And it was true enough that the camp highly discouraged any sort of travel alone. "But wouldn't one of the others be better? Matthew or Red or-"

"Don't want to go with one a them." The words were out before he could think. His face only reddened more at the surprise evident in her eyes. This hadn't gone at all like he'd hoped.

But, then again, he wasn't sure exactly _what_ he'd hoped for. Only that he'd seen Carol grow more and more tired, running herself down in that clinic every day. He always caught these little glimpses of her - the _real_ her, he thought of it as - in the evenings before they both tumbled into an exhausted sleep. And in those moments when she'd show him that real smile, his stomach would do this funny little flip.

He'd wanted _more_ of that. More time. To make it all up somehow. The last two years and the time he'd wasted before. And now he'd gone and fucked it all up.

Adjusting the bow on his shoulder, Daryl stepped somewhat swiftly toward the door. "Can go by myself. Ain't no big damn -"

"I want to go."

Daryl stopped in his tracks, stilled both by her words and by the hand she'd placed insistently on his arm.

Somewhat shyly, she withdrew her hand. He'd looked so scared to simply ask. Had assumed so quickly she'd turn him down. Carol wondered if he'd ever realize... _What, exactly? _ She pushed that nagging thought off to the side. "I'd love to go, Daryl," she assured. "Ali can keep an eye on things here. It'd be good to get out for a while." She took in his furrowed brow. "If you still want to take me."

Biting his lip, he studied her hopeful eyes. His gut did that familiar flip.

"Daryl?"

He realized he'd been staring.

She shook her head and backed away. "It's okay if-"

"Leave at dawn?" he interrupted.

Slowly, her lips turned up at the confirmation. She nodded, gracing him with a full-on grin. "We leave at dawn."

* * *

Carol found herself awake well before the sun made its appearance the following day. Lying there in the darkness of her room -_ their_ room - she let her thoughts drift.

She hadn't believed her own eyes when she'd seen him standing in front of that gate what had to be almost a month ago. Hadn't fully believed he was real until he'd pulled her to him with a force that felt like desperation and she'd felt the solid weight of his chest. And now, here he was, sleeping on her floor.

The others were out there. That thought pinched like a needle whenever it came to the forefront of her mind. She pushed it back as best she could, but in the oddest moments it would pierce sharply through.

The others were out there, and still, he came.

She'd never really dared to hope that he would. That had been the one final injury, the final disappointment she couldn't possibly have withstood. But as much as she had tried to smother the hope of that one little fire, lately Carol had come to realize that the embers had burned the entire time.

He'd missed her. She'd told him in a moment of bravery that she'd missed him. She hadn't elaborated, just allowed him to interpret the words however he would. And then, he'd said it back. He'd uttered the words and the air had been knocked from her lungs. And ever since that moment, she'd started to wonder - started to _hope_ - that maybe, just maybe, he'd missed her in the same way she had him.

But hope, she had learned, was a painful thing.

Carol blinked her eyes against their burning. She realized she'd been studying the ceiling above her bed with a strained intensity like it held all the answers. Rubbing her watering eyes, she stretched a bit and tried to gauge the time. Judging it to be nearly dawn, she slipped the covers off of the bed, tensing for a moment at the shock of cold air. Gingerly, she swung her feet to the floor, careful not to tread on the still-sleeping Daryl.

She had tried, several times, to offer him the bed. Each time he'd gruffly refused and said he was used to the floor. It nagged at her that he had to be freezing down there and that the floor was none too soft to boot. It had crossed her mind, in a brief moment of wonder, to offer to share the bed, but that idea had been quickly discarded. Carol had an idea that he'd bolt for the door and head for the hills at the mere suggestion of such a thing. So, she piled up the blankets as well as she could to at least keep him warm.

Just as she made to step over him, Daryl stirred, pulling himself slowly out of sleep. She froze as he came into awareness, not wanting to startle him by her position. She'd learned quickly, and from her own experience, what such a thing would inevitably do.

She waited until he got his bearings. Eventually, he blinked up at her in the dim light. "You okay?" he asked softly, sleep still roughening his speech.

"Yeah," she finished stepping over him and moving toward the stack of crates. "Just thought I'd head over and find us some food to take when we go."

Daryl nodded and sat up. His hair poked out from behind his right ear, and Carol had to bite back a smile. She still hadn't had time to cut it. They hadn't had time for much at all besides the daily business of staying alive. But at least today, that would be different. They'd be out. Away. Free if only for a few blessed hours.

He swiveled toward the darkened window. "It'll be light soon," he observed with a certainty that made her smile. "I'll go see Ted about the car."

"He'll be there this early?"

"Man never leaves." Daryl ran a hand over his face. "Loves those cars like they're his kids. Talks about 'em almost as much. Don't matter none if you don't talk back."

"Okay," she agreed, still amused by the tuft of hair. She held back against the urge to smooth it down. "Meet you in front of the clinic in a little bit?"

"Sounds good." He crouched, then stood and eyed her shyly. "You still sure you want to go?"

She realized, in that moment, that she did more than just about anything else in the world. That she'd been looking forward to this since the moment he'd asked. _Looking forward_, now, was a rare gift. "Try and stop me," she teased and headed for the hall.

* * *

The first rays of light were just making their way over the horizon as Carol and Daryl exited the gate. The old Chevy passed on through as Ted closed it behind them. Soon the settlement was a distance away.

At first, Daryl had balked at the idea of taking a car. But, much like the "travel in groups of two" rule, taking a vehicle was the way of this place. Even though he'd initially resisted, Daryl found himself glad for the old blue car as they finally headed off. The noise and activity of the settlement would likely drive off any game too nearby, and they'd have wasted half the day walking to get to a spot much farther out. And, he had to admit, being able to jump in a car if surprised by a herd was a comforting thought.

Carol handed him a thermos as he drove. "Coffee," she explained. "Careful, it's hot."

Keeping one hand on the wheel, he took a sip of the scalding liquid. The burn felt good on his throat. He handed the thermos back to her and watched as she took a sip as well.

Recapping the thermos for the time being, she surveyed the side of the cracked road. "So where are we going?"

He rubbed against the frosting window and turned on the heater while he spoke. "If I'm right, this road takes a turn a few miles up. Think I saw a stream and some timber up that way when I was headed in."

Carol nodded, briefly flashing back to that night. She was surprised he'd remembered much at all. "It's about eight miles up," she confirmed. Off his questioning glance, she explained. "There's a town out a little farther than that. We made some runs over that way last spring."

Daryl kept driving as the sky turned a blazing pink in the morning dawn. After a time, Carol reached for the radio and fiddled with the buttons. Static crossed the speakers as she turned the knob. Again, there were blasts of white noise as she clicked from one empty station on to the next.

Finally, she switched it off with a careless shrug. "I always figure it's worth a chance."

Daryl nodded. Anything, he guessed, was worth a chance.

At last he pulled over to the side of the road. "Figure we can leave the car here. Start up in that brush just ahead and make our way in. Keep close enough to get to the car if..." He trailed off, the first tinge of worry settling into his gut. The thought struck him that she'd have been safer back behind the settlement walls.

"If anything happens," she finished for him, unbuckling her belt. She offered him a little smile and the some of the worry drifted away. "You ready?"

He pulled the key from the ignition with a click. "Let's do this."

* * *

For all that Carol said she wouldn't be any help, Daryl soon began to wonder why he'd never thought to take her hunting before. Back at the prison, he'd done this on his own, and happily so. But now, everything was different.

_He_ was different, he realized with a sudden start. Carol, too. He trusted her to watch his back. Trusted her in a way that he would rarely allow. And Carol… He found himself more surprised and more at ease with each passing day. Between them it was different and yet it was not. Different and the same as it ever had been.

* * *

Carol watched his back while he focused on the game. The two of them fell into a rhythm, communicating through looks and silent gestures without any need for extraneous words.

Then again, Carol marveled, they'd always done it just that way.

* * *

The early morning passed by quickly. There was more game than Daryl had thought, and they had the good fortune of only encountering a handful of walkers, all of whom were taken out easily by Daryl's bow.

By mid-morning, Carol noticed him stopping to study the sky. Seeing her curiosity, he paused in a clearing. "It's gonna snow," Daryl observed. "See that cloud over there?" He nudged her gently by the shoulder until she stood directly in front of him. When she did, he didn't lift his hand from the base of her neck. Just let it rest there against her skin.

Daryl crouched a bit behind her, lowering himself to match her eyeline. Pointing, he peered over her shoulder and spoke lowly into her ear. "That darker one just over the ridge. See it?"

She nodded, dizzy in the cold. His chest was solid against her back.

"Storm's gonna hit by mid-afternoon."

His breath warmed the back of her neck and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. He stayed that way for a moment before it seemed that he became sensible of his proximity to her and backed away, removing his hand from her shoulder and shoving it in his pocket as he did.

Carol shook her head in wonder at his retreating back. He was always so skittish in that way. She could count on her fingers the number of times when he'd come close, _touch_ her, even, seemingly without any thought.

That night at the prison on top of the bus. He's rubbed her shoulder until she'd gone and scared him away. He'd carried her out of the tombs, gathering her into his arms and pressing her against his chest. Even that night when he'd first arrived at the gate - that first brief moment when he'd pulled her solidly against him. All done without any thought. Without any hesitation on his part.

And then, like someone flipped a switch, he'd back away again. Practically fly from the room if she so much as brushed his arm. Hot and cold, stops and starts. Sometimes she just wished -

"C'mon," he urged gently from up ahead. Shaking herself out of her daydream, she jogged behind.


	11. Chapter 11 - Hunting - Part 2

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead does not belong to me.**

**A/N: Big things on the horizon here...**

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

At lunchtime they retreated briefly to the relative warmth of the old blue car. Shuffling through the backpack at her feet, Carol removed the lunches she'd gathered that morning. After taking a swig of the cooling coffee, Carol picked at her sandwich while across from her Daryl practically devoured his. She smiled over at him from the passenger seat as he picked the last breadcrumbs from the wrapper. Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "I'm glad to know you still eat my cooking."

He swallowed the last bite of crust and looked up in surprise.

"Rose wasn't at the kitchen yet when I went over this morning, so I made do with what was there. Got another sandwich if you want it," she offered, unzipping the bag.

He nodded his agreement and she pulled it from the pack. "I think this one's just peanut butter."

He unwrapped it eagerly and took a bite. "It's good," he mumbled through the thick, dense bread Rose created on an almost hourly basis.

Carol chuckled lightly while rolling her eyes. "Two ingredients. Pretty hard to screw up." She took another bite of her own sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a minute. "I miss it a little," she mused in the quiet.

He sucked a dab of peanut butter from his finger and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Cooking," she clarified. She took another bite and swallowed before she continued. "I always liked to cook. Back...before. Just seemed like it was all I ever got done back at the prison. Well, that and laundry." She pursed her lips recalling her frigid, wrinkled fingers. "That, I don't miss."

Daryl smirked through a bite of bread.

"I worked with Rose for a while in the kitchen, back when I first got to Haven." She crooked her head to the side. "At least, when I was well enough to," she amended.

Daryl's brow lowered. She'd never really told him how she ended up there. Never talked about those missing two years. She'd certainly never mentioned being sick.

Carol didn't elaborate, though, and he couldn't find the words to ask. "Wasn't in the kitchen long before I started helping patch people up with what I learned from Hershel. Then Ali came along and we got the clinic going." She stopped a bit of sandwich filling from slipping away. "By then the settlement grew and I never really got back to it. Too busy with the clinic. Now it seems like that's all I ever do."

Daryl wasn't sure what to say. He took another bite and used the time to think. "Could go help out over there if ya wanted. In the kitchen. Nothin' keepin' ya out."

She smiled wryly. "Except for the endless parade of stitches and coughs and skinned knees and," she swallowed, "bites and knife wounds," she finished darkly.

Daryl chewed the last bit of his sandwich in silence.

Leaning her head against the coolness of the window, Carol sighed. "Probably just as well," and her voice was light again, even if it felt a little forced. "It's nice to do something useful, besides the cooking." She thought a moment before allowing a smile. "And I'm not sure I could stand to fix all those potatoes."

Daryl huffed a half a laugh at her unconcealed dislike of their dietary staple. "They might actually taste like somethin' if they was comin' from you."

Her eyes brightened at the compliment. "That," she grinned, "or we'd all starve to death when I threw them out."

Daryl crinkled up his sandwich wrapper. Carol held out her hand and stuffed it back into the pack. "Anyway, it'll be nice to have some meat for a change."

Nodding his agreement, Daryl reached for his bow, waiting in the back seat. "You ready?"

She smiled that one that made his stomach do a flip. "Absolutely."

Together, they stepped back outside. Right away, Carol noted the bitter chill that had crept into the wind.

Daryl noticed it too, and adjusted his poncho. "Snow's gonna start soon. You sure you want to go back out? Only gonna get colder 'til it starts."

She nodded quickly as she closed the car door. "I've got enough clothes on for at least three people. I'll be just fine." There was no way she was cutting this day short.

Together they made their way through the brush, back toward a little clearing they'd passed earlier in the day. Setting up for the afternoon, they saw the first flakes. A little while after that, it began to fall in earnest.

"You still sure?" he turned to ask.

Again, she nodded, smiling up at the sky. "Honestly, Daryl?" She stepped a little closer, hoping he wouldn't back away. "This is perfect." She bit her lip after the words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'd realize she didn't mean the weather.

* * *

The snow fell heavier as they waited in silence. Daryl was starting to doubt they'd see much else on account of the weather. Seemed like all the game had headed in for the day to avoid the storm. Inwardly, he debated putting voice to the words inside his head. Asking the question he'd had since they'd ate lunch in the car.

Carol sat beside him, turned so that she covered his back. He'd learned she could be just as still and silent as he was out in the woods.

Eventually, he decided it was worth the risk of running off food. He rubbed his chilled hands together a bit and finally spoke. "What'd you mean when you said you was well enough to work?"

"What?" Her breath escaped in a white puff. She looked surprised that he'd spoken at all.

"Earlier, in the car. You said you was sick when you got to the settlement."

"Oh," she nodded softly. She didn't speak for so long he began to think she wouldn't answer. At last, though, she did. "I was out there alone for a few months. Made my way around without really knowing where I was headed. Just wandered from place to place."

She was silent again as the snow continued to fall. She marveled that she could almost hear the flakes reaching the ground. "I made my way back over to the farm."

Daryl looked up in surprise.

"There wasn't much left. Herd tore it apart pretty good. I'm glad…I'm glad Hershel never had to see it." She looked down at her glove covered fingers. She tensed and twined them together in nervous thought. "But, I went. Said good-bye to my little girl."

Daryl felt his throat begin to close. He remembered back to the cramped RV. The day of the funeral.

Carol inhaled a shaky breath. "I couldn't do it back then. When it first...happened. I know you didn't understand why." He lowered his head in memory of his words, but Carol didn't seem angry or even upset. "I just couldn't," she went on. "But you were right. I owed her that." She straightened her back. "And then I kept on moving. Figured it didn't really matter much what happened after that."

He'd checked the farm. Found it in much the same condition he imagined she'd seen it in. Broken, withered, empty. He must have gotten there too late. She'd already gone. _Always too late._ His chest tightened at the memory of the flower he'd left resting on Sophia's grave.

"I wasn't paying attention."

Jerked from the memory, he looked over to find Carol staring straight ahead.

She continued. "I was headed into an old farmhouse and I didn't see the barbed wire. It was all rusty in the weeds. Cut my arm up pretty bad. Tried to clean it out and stitch it up, but it got infected. I decided to head out to a town, look for something to treat it, but I was pretty bad off by then. Guess I wasn't thinking straight." She exhaled, studying the sky. "Was just luck I happened onto the camp."

He didn't know what to say.

"They took me in and I got better. Took a long time. Weeks, I think. I don't remember much about it. Red was the one that first saw me. He and Jonesy got me back. I still have the scars on my arm."

It occurred to Daryl that she was always so careful to wear long sleeves. He wondered how he hadn't noticed, but then again, it was winter and he'd thought nothing of the fact that she was always so cold.

Carol sighed and faced him for the first time. He was studying her with such a look of guilt that it nearly took her breath. Summoning all the courage she had, Carol offered him a weary smile. "You know that none of that was your fault." Seeing that he wouldn't answer, she changed the subject and raised her eyes to the snow falling from above. "It's really coming down now." And the conversation was through.

She didn't tell Daryl what brought her over to the camp. Couldn't find words to say what she'd seen that day, sick with fever and certain of death. That through her feverish haze, wandering on shaky legs, she'd seen a tiny patch of white amidst the green. And that, making her way closer, she'd collapsed next to a Cherokee rose.

That when they first found her, she'd thought they were _him_.

* * *

When the sun slipped partway down the sky and their boots were soaked from all the snow, Carol reluctantly agreed that it was time to head back.

Daryl led the way back to the car. Once there, they deposited the labors of the day into the trunk.

They'd done well, and Daryl had to admit he wouldn't have gotten half of it if it wasn't for her. Carol watching his back freed him up to concentrate on the game, and he'd gotten enough to last the settlement at least for a while.

Though he knew that most of what he'd got would end up with Rose as fodder for the community cafeteria, he made note to hold something back just for her. The kills would keep easily in the cold, and he had an idea that he could cook a rabbit over one of the camp fires and slip it to her the following night. Maybe ask Rose for a few things to go with.

Something just for her, so he could see that smile.

Slamming down the trunk, Daryl made his way to the driver's side door. He froze in place, though, when he saw Carol. She also, stood just to the side of the passenger door. Her head was tipped back toward the sky, snowflakes coming to rest on her upturned face. Her eyelashes fluttered when they landed too close. But what captured Daryl, what made the breath catch deep in his chest, was the joy spreading like sunshine across her face.

It hit him, in that moment, that Carol was _beautiful._

That she was beautiful there in the snow, letting the flakes rest on her cheeks.

She didn't move under his scrutiny - didn't seem at all phased by it. Before he knew what had occurred, he'd made his way around the car to stand before her. After a moment, she spoke.

"I had an aunt in Illinois. Growing up, we used to visit her at Christmas." He watched her breath puff in the air. Her head remained tilted toward the sky. "We'd make snow angels in her backyard. It was the view I liked. Watching the snow come down."

She lowered her head from the sky and down to his eyes.

His heart jumped a little. That joy was still there.

"I just forgot," she whispered, tilting her head back to the clouds. She'd wanted just one more minute of _this_. "That anything could be so beautiful."

He nodded a bit while she watched the sky. Her cheeks flushed red in the cold. Daryl swallowed, intent on her face. "So did I."

Finally, she lowered her gaze to rest with his. Blushing a bit, she reached up to brush some snow out of his bangs. She smiled even wider when he didn't back away. "Thanks for bringing me out here, Daryl." Her eyes threatened to flood with tears, but she blinked them back. "I think I needed to do this. It was..." She willed her chin to stop its trembling and pulled on a watery smile. "It was perfect."

One idyllic snowflake landed on her cheek. Daryl watched it for a moment, transfixed as it rested against her skin. Incrementally, he raised his hand to her face. So delicately, he moved his fingers. The snowflake melted against his thumb.

Carol held her breath at his feather touch.

"Anytime," he finally whispered.

There was a moment where her heart didn't beat, a moment of breathless _maybe_, and then all too soon he was backing away. "Best be gettin' back before it gets any deeper." His boots crunched in the snow as he tracked back around the car.

Hot and cold, stops and starts.

Exhaling, Carol reached somewhat shakily for the door handle and took one more look at the moving sky.

* * *

And their rhythm continued as more days passed.

Days, then weeks with that delicate dance.

Delicate and easy, until the night they were torn from sleep by the crack of gunfire and terrified screams.

The cry came ripping like a knife through skin.

_"Walkers in the camp!"_


	12. A Cry in the Night

**A/N: Warning for some violence here - nothing worse than what's on the show. Also, a warning that this is my first attempt - ever, really - at writing action of any sort. **

**Thank you all for your lovely feedback and reviews. This is by far the most involved thing I've ever written, and I appreciate the encouragement more than I can say.**

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

_"Walkers in the camp!"_

The cry came ripping through the blackness of night. Daryl jerked in cold panic from the heaviness of sleep. Above him, on the bed, he heard Carol gasp.

With the cry came the gunshots.

Moments later, the screams.

Daryl was scrambling off the floor and wrestling himself free from the tangle of blankets before he was even fully aware. Instinct more than anything had him rocketing forward and onto his feet. The screams were so loud cutting through the stillness of night…they seemed to surround the tiny room. It took his racing brain a minute to realize that some were coming from just down the hall.

_"Walkers!"_ A shout from somewhere inside the dorm.

Automatically, he reached for the bow as he vaulted toward the door, jerking back as something bumped against its frame from the outside. Straining to listen, he became dimly aware of Carol scrambling from her bed behind him. The sound of her boots hitting the floor was punctuated by a gunshot from somewhere nearby.

The window rattled in protest of the close, percussive blast. Daryl realized it came from the next floor down.

From outside, an answering crack. Sweat pricked coldly at his chest.

In the time it took Daryl to brace his weight and nudge open the door, Carol reached his side and was tucking a knife next to the gun in her waistband. Her widened eyes found his in the dark. "What-"

"Stay behind me." He gave the order over top of her confused question. Carol huddled at his shoulder while he peered through the crack into the darkened hall. He couldn't see shit in the drapery of black. He wanted, for an instant, to push her back inside. Tell her to lock the door and stay put until he came.

But it wasn't three years in the past, and the glint of her knife told him she was more than capable of holding her own. Still, he edged out before her into the hall. She followed silently just behind, catching their closing door before it could make a sound.

They could hear the thunder of footsteps heading for the stairs, the bang of doors opening and shutting in the pitch black halls.

And always, the screams.

Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. Carol dimly wondered if it had been a window pane.

Pressing his back to the wall just outside their closed door, Daryl took a moment to get his bearings. The ancient construction of the hallways made it difficult to tell what was going on. Everything echoed in the dark until he wasn't sure what sounds drifted in from outside or from just next door.

He thought he heard a growl from the end of the hall. A baby crying from somewhere nearby. Muffled voices shouting outside.

"Here," and Carol's arm appeared with a flashlight. The batteries were near empty, he could tell. She swept the flickering beam toward the growl.

The walker stumbled toward them out of the dark. Daryl's arrow pierced its skull with a sickening crunch. Its curly brown hair was matted with blood. The flashlight revealed it to be the only one. Their hallway was clear, at least for now.

Carol retrieved the arrow without another word, placing it with widened eyes into Daryl's waiting hand. He reloaded, ready for more. A few more metallic bangs before gunshots rumbled in the distance. Daryl held the bow ready, aiming it toward the shadows.

They both startled at a scream from a floor down below. A thudding sound invaded his skull, and he tensed to strike before realizing it was the sound of his own pulse. He swiveled toward movement from his left as a shape dodged into a room. Movement from the right, and Daryl whirled to see Carol, her skin gleaming pale in the darkness.

_Like it had in the tombs._ The memory struck him in a terrified blast.

He crowded her back against their door. This had been a mistake. In the confusion of the darkness, he couldn't keep her safe. Had to keep her inside. Couldn't lose her yet again. "Wait inside. I'll come back for you."

Her back met the door as she shook her head. "No. You're not going alone."

"I don't know what's happening down there!"

"I'm coming with you." Her words were surprisingly calm next to his panicked whisper.

Looming over her, he inhaled two gasping breaths. All he could think was to keep her safe.

"I can do this," she whispered. Her hand found his shoulder. "Just trust me."

He gathered himself, taking control of the panic that seized him moments before. And as much as he wanted to lock her away, keep her safe until this – whatever _this _was – was over, he was starting to realize he may need her help. That she was more than capable of providing that. She'd made it two years on her own. For a brief second, he rested his forehead on the cool metal of the door just over her shoulder. She was strong; she could fight. _Trust me_, she'd asked.

Daryl exhaled a heavy breath and straightened while adjusting the bow. He locked her eyes in his and nodded his agreement. "Behind me," he whispered once again. She nodded her understanding, clutching the knife in her tiny hands.

As they made their way toward the stairs, Daryl started at an opening door. A white face appeared. A woman. One with a baby wailing behind her inside the room. "What's happening out -"

"Inside," he hissed, and the door shut once more. He could still hear the kid crying even through the closed door.

Continuing down the endless hall, he felt Carol creep along at his back. Finally, they reached the well of blackened stairs.

From outside, more gunfire and a sound like metal groaning. Sobbing cries and muffled shouts from somewhere below.

They made their way down slowly, one step at a time. He tried for silence, but their boots crunched too loud on the dirty grit of the stairs. The baby's cry grew fainter as they descended. On the landing, Daryl paused. A groaning shuffle drew menacingly near. A moment later, he let an arrow fly. The walker fell just at their feet.

Pausing only long enough to remove the bolt from the creature's head, they continued to the ground floor. Another fell by his bolt and one more at Carol's knife before they intercepted another living soul. Daryl had whirled at the bottom of the stairs to find Red approaching from the first floor hall.

The smaller man tapped his hand against his arm to gather Daryl's attention. Next to him, Carol's eyes widened at the blood coloring his skin. Red shook his head and tapped his mouth. _Not a bite_. He indicated "four" with his fingers and gestured down the hall.

Daryl nodded his understanding at the smaller man. Four walkers stood between them and the door that would lead them outside. Turning to confirm that Carol also was ready, the three of them moved forward in the darkness. Outside, the gunshots multiplied while the screams grew more desperate. From somewhere above, doors continued to slam. A bitter, familiar smell drifted in the air. His stomach turned without knowing why. A sound like an engine started to roar. Strangely, his eyes began to burn.

Inch by inch, with his eyes straining into a darkness the failing flashlight couldn't quite clear, Daryl kept moving forward. A snarling hiss forced him to crouch. A snap from just over his shoulder spurred his action. He took out one with the bow, while beside him Red tackled another and made good use of his knife. A third appeared before Daryl just as he heard Carol's startled gasp from behind.

His arrow flew as he whirled. The flashlight Carol had carried clattered to his feet. Red charged forward toward Daryl's target as he turned to see Carol plant her knife in another one's skull. He hadn't seen it. Hadn't even heard it as they passed it by.

The creature sank to the floor beside her. She placed her boot on the head and removed her knife just as Daryl reached her side.

"You alright?" He wanted to scream the words, shake her until she answered. Instead, they escaped as only a strained whisper, and she nodded her head.

"Fine," she breathed. Her eyes flickered to Red, and she let out a startled gasp. Daryl followed her gaze to find the man hunched over the walker he'd shot.

Brushing past Daryl, Carol knelt as well. "Oh, God." One bloodstained hand rested on Red's shaking shoulder as the other reached to brush against the familiar face.

Daryl felt the air catch in his chest.

Carol met his eyes in the yellow light. "Rose," was all she managed to say.

Daryl stepped forward. He swept the flashlight up from where it had dropped from Carol's hand at the walker's approach. As the feeble light swept the hall, he realized with horror what had been done.

Rose's smiling face was stilled in a snarl and marred by the bolt through her head. With a rising fear deep in his chest, Daryl saw what it was that had caused her to turn. The shoulders of her shirt were soaked in blood.

Rose's throat had been cut. This was deliberate. His stomach turned at the thought.

Carol's tentative hand squeezed Red's trembling shoulder. She looked to Daryl, who scanned the dark hall. "What's happening here?"

Daryl didn't have time to guess before planting an arrow in an approaching walker. He could see from a distance that it, too, had been knifed and must have turned.

Red rose shakily and turned away from Rose. His usual cheerful face was twisted in grief. The smaller man gestured toward the outer door just down the hall. Daryl nodded in agreement. "Don't know, but we gotta get out of here. Too dark, too many places they could hide. Ain't safe to stay inside."

As if emphasizing the point, there came a scream from above and more breaking glass.

Carol took one last painful look at what was left of her friend. Turning, a panicked thought struck her and she clasped Daryl's arm. "Ali was still at the clinic when I left," she whispered frantically. "Do you think-"

"Don't know." She removed her hand as he adjusted the bow. "We gotta go."

Together, the three of them made for the door.

* * *

Outside, it was chaos. The first thing Daryl became sensible of was an orange glow in the clinic building and a strange heat washing toward them in waves. The acrid smell of smoke invaded his lungs. "Shit," he hissed. The clinic building was on fire.

Carol was running before he could think what to do. She broke past his side and darted straight for the smoke. "Shit!" He raced after her, pausing only to swing the weight of his bow at a walker who dared to stumble in front of his path. It wasn't until he overtook Carol at the clinic door that he realized Red was pounding up behind.

Daryl threw himself in front of her. Waves of heat and smoke made it hard to see. Grabbing Carol's shoulder, he pulled her roughly back from the door. A bullet hit metal somewhere behind. He tried to shield her with his own body as he staggered back. "You can't go in there!"

In his arms, she was pulling away. "Ali was in there!"

He half-dragged her down the crumbling steps. "You can't –"

"I have to get her out of –"

But as she spoke, the door burst open. In the smoke and the heat, it took him a minute to realize it was the girl.

Stumbling, Ali fell, then crawled for the steps. Her choking gasps were lost in the chaos around them as Daryl's hands loosened and Carol scrambled to her side.

Beside him, Red tapped his hands together and pointed toward the far end of the camp. Daryl followed his gesture through the chaos. Three of the vehicles the camp claimed were making their way toward the open gate.

The gate was open, its panels hanging broken off to the side. All around, people were leaving, running, scattering scared into the dark. The fire, the walkers, gunfire, death...and Daryl felt like he'd lived this a million times before. The vehicles kept crawling their way through the chaos, headed for the gate. Through the smoke he could just make out the boxes in the back of the truck. Boxes they'd just raided from a town nearby...

Carol was holding up a struggling Ali. Behind him, Red took out a stumbling form.

The blonde girl coughed and nearly fell. "They came in so fast," she choked. "I couldn't stop them -" She doubled over and tried to draw air. In the light of the fire, he saw the bruising marks still on her wrists and the trickle of blood on her head.

Gunfire, walkers, the fire. Rose. Those supplies headed for the gate. A face he recognized at the wheel.

"Fuck!" He knew with a twisted certainty what had been done.

Daryl made a choice. "Stay with them!" he ordered Red. And then, he ran toward the cars.

_"Daryl?"_ Carol had thought, in her confusion, that they were abandoning the camp. She tugged Ali away from smoke pouring out of the clinic and tried to see through the choking cloud.

At first there was nothing, but as the sound of engines roared closer, she realized her mistake. From the driver's seat of their only truck, she recognized Mike. She recognized the boxes from the clinic thrown in the back. And as Daryl ran for the vehicle, she saw the gun Mike held glint in the firelight. Everything slowed. She heard a crack.

Before she could scream, a weighty pain hit from behind.

And then everything, _everything_, turned coldly black.


	13. The Darkest Hour

**A/N: I can't say it enough. You all are the most encouraging, wonderful people! I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**The Long Road Home**

_In the background, somewhere in the darkness, there was sound. A rumbling, charging drone that teetered just on the edge of her recognition._

_There was heat and then cold. A flash of white and then only black. Murmurs of words her brain couldn't quite piece together._

_In the darkness, she was back in that cell. Propped up against the wall, hidden and waiting. Waiting for something - waiting for death - until the door swung open and he came. Gathered her up into his arms to carry her somewhere far away._

_He always came._

* * *

Daryl had charged for the car. He'd seen Mike raise the gun. At the shot, he'd rolled and flattened himself into the dirt. Scrambling for cover, he'd watched as the truck passed through the gate unhindered and heard the roar of its engine as it blasted on down the road. A second car, at least three men crouched inside, followed it out of the settlement's walls.

Through the smoke, he'd spotted the old blue Chevy he and Carol had taken hunting what felt like a lifetime ago. It was the last of the three, driving slower than the others as it made its way through the chaos. Unlike the others, it paused as if in indecision as people ran past. The other vehicles had left it behind.

Squinting through his watering eyes, Daryl lifted the bow. Through the smoke, he could just make out the profile of the car's sole occupant. His lungs burned as something nudged him from behind.

Stumbling forward, he fired.

* * *

_"Carol? You hear me?"_

_Mumbling, and the image of Daryl hovering over her, carrying her from the tombs, retreated away. She tried to get it back, tried to reach for his face, but he only shimmered into darkness. She tried to call to him, but the sound slurred on her heavy tongue._

_More mumbled, muffled sounds, and the image faded completely away, dissolving into a blurry dimness before her._

_She blinked, trying to bring back the image of that day down in the tombs, but it wouldn't seem to appear. "Give her this."_

_Something fuzzily entered her line of sight. The object touched her lips and tilted, flooding her parched mouth with something cool and desirable. She leaned forward, eager for more._

_"Not too much." The liquid was removed, and she fell, alone, into the black._

* * *

Righting himself, Daryl pulled to his feet and ran for the car. It accelerated abruptly, then jerked his way and swerved unsteadily back again. Slowing, the car rolled at an angle toward the open gate. At the last moment, it veered to the side, stopping only when it hit the wall with a metallic crunch.

From behind Daryl, Matthew appeared from the chaos with a gun. Pete, his giant figure imposing in the clouded darkness, ran up as well. "What now, man?" he screamed across the noise.

In the distance, beyond the gate, Daryl could see the timber coming alive. He blinked away the burning in his eyes. Definitely movement - unsteady but relentless. Walkers, likely drawn by the noise. Daryl knew that soon there'd be more. "Gotta close the gate," he yelled as he moved toward the crumpled car. Pete took off with a nod toward the mangled panels.

Matthew kept his gun on the open driver's side window as Daryl approached, bow raised and ready.

He opened the door and swung back in surprise.

The driver was only a kid. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. He'd seen him playing soccer a few times in the outer camp. Daryl's first bolt had struck him in the neck. The kid looked at him in muted terror through all the blood. Daryl recognized the signs. The seat was already soaked. So was his shirt. He had maybe minutes. Probably less.

Daryl swallowed the bitterness in his throat. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and pulled him out of the car and into the dirt. When he drew back his hand, it was warm with blood.

"Don't..." The kid sputtered as he fell, gasping through the choking well. There wasn't much time. The horror in his eyes told Daryl he knew. "Don't let me turn. They just said they'd start up...someplace else...I didn't know..."

"Where are they headed?" Daryl's boot met the kid's shoulder with a soft crunch, pressing it into the mud.

His chest arching for air, the kid's eyes rolled back to the sky. "Please," he whimpered. "I don't want to be one of them."

Daryl swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the memory of the farm. The shed. Randall. _He'd lived this shit so long before._ Had sworn, after that, he'd never play that part again. Shaking his head, he met Matthew's eyes. The younger man gave him a grim nod of acceptance and adjusted the grip he had on his gun.

Daryl nodded slightly back and willed his eyes to focus. He took in the tremble of Matthew's hand and summoned up what strength he could. Leaning down, he growled at the twisted face. "Tell us where they're headed and I'll end it."

The kid choked a sobbing cry. "They said they'd take me with them..Didn't know they-" He coughed a wet gasp. "Please...I didn't know...Don't let me be one of them." The words ended in a painful gurgle as blood filled his throat.

Daryl leaned forward some more. "Tell us where they're going!" His boot slid. The ground was soaked in blood under his feet.

So pale beneath him, the lips barely moved. "Town. West. Malengo. Didn't mean to..." The kid stilled on the ground and it was done.

Matthew placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl stepped back and raised his bow.

* * *

_"Carol?"_

_She blinked away the heavy darkness._

_"Carol? Wake up."_

_He always came for her._

Daryl's worried face slid into focus as it hovered above. She started at the sight. Gone was the Daryl from her dream, from down in the tombs. Before her, he appeared covered in dirt, smudged clean only in the spaces where sweat had trailed down his brow. Blood dried brown-red marred his cheek, and she noted the speckles of red that dotted his arms. His bloodied shirt was clinging to his chest.

"What happened?" Carol shifted in alarm at the disorienting change. Her words felt slurred and strangely unclear. She tried to sit up, but her own body fought the motion.

Daryl's hand came to rest firmly on her shoulder, keeping her gently in her place. "Easy," he whispered. "Not yet." She stilled, but he didn't remove his hand. "Drink some more. Not too much." He raised the bottle to her lips and guided her shoulder to lean slightly forward. Her hand came up to claim the bottle, but he never released his grasp, not even as her fingers fluttered down on top of his own. When she was through, he capped it and set it down at her side. It tapped lightly on the tiled floor.

"Let me see your eyes." He bent over her in the dim light and squinted. After a moment, he nodded in quiet relief and eased her back to the floor.

Leaning back against the ground, Carol blinked against the pain fogging her head. She realized with confusion that she was in the cafeteria lobby with Daryl bent down close at her side. Realized that they were far from alone. Muted, murmured conversations buzzed around them, along with the sound of someone's tears. Her heart quickened as she tried to pull together the fragments of memory.

They'd been sleeping. It had just been an ordinary night. But then, something had happened. Walkers, a fire, the blood on his shirt... It rushed at her like pieces of a puzzle that just wouldn't fit.

Daryl, who had been crouched on his heels, leaned back and sat on the floor beside her. The hand at her shoulder retreated. He fiddled with the water bottle, picking it up as if to move it, then replacing it exactly where it had stood.

"Daryl?" Her voice held just a hint of desperation. "What happened?"

He picked up the bottle and replaced it again.

"It was bad." He didn't look at her when he said it. Her stomach clenched in fear.

"What happened?" Bits and pieces kept rushing back. Walkers in the dorm, in the courtyard. The orange glow of fire lighting up the night in flickering terror. Screams. Engines roaring through the camp. The splintering of the gate as they passed through. Gunfire.

Again, she started, desperate to know more. She struggled to sit. Her head thundered with the effort, but Daryl's hand closed down over hers and she stopped partway through the act. Propped up on her elbows, she saw that his nails were rimmed in black.

"Got the gate fixed so it should hold for now," he said quietly. He kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke. "Keepin' everybody inside just in case."

"I don't understand."

"Fire and noise...we think they drew a herd. Pretty big one. Didn't hit all at once. Some passed, but there might be more."

Carol blinked, trying to process the information. "How many?"

He looked at her in confusion.

"How many _people_?" she clarified. "How many did we lose?"

Daryl bit his lip. "Don't know." He coughed slightly and she realized that smoke still hung in the air. "Haven't cleared the dorm yet or all of outside. Was waitin' for light."

She closed her eyes and tried to slow her pounding heart. A herd. That piece didn't fit. There were walkers, but...The answers were there, but kept slipping away. "It wasn't a herd," she whispered.

He kept his eyes on the muddy tile.

"You said there was a herd but..." Her thoughts were all jumbled as she tried to force them into place. "It wasn't a herd that did this, was it?"

Wordlessly, he shook his head. His arms were nearly coated in red.

"It was..." She remembered Rose and that knife cut. The glint of fire against steel. Blood dripping from Ali's head. "They planned it. Someone..." She remembered the face in the truck. "Mike...Some of them _did_ this." Her voice cracked on the words.

"Yeah."

Her lips parted, but no words would come. The rest of the pieces fell horrifyingly into their place. Carol remembered. "Ali? She was -"

"She's fine." He nodded toward the far side of the room to where the girl was bent over someone Carol couldn't see.

"I should help her. See what needs to be done."

"Wait." Again, his hand tightened over hers.

"I'm fine. I need to get up. I need to see what-"

"No." Frustrated, he removed his hand from hers and ran it through his hair. She noticed for the first time that it was dripping wet. He had to be freezing. "It was a beam what hit ya. Came down pretty hard. Whole roof of the clinic building came down. Was Red that shoved ya out of the way or it coulda been worse. Thought when I saw ya that..." His throat closed. That kid's blood itched on his arms. He'd run back, _after_, to see Carol pale and limp on the ground. He'd ran off, and she...

"I'm fine," she whispered again. Carol took in his exhausted appearance and read guilt in his eyes. Guilt over her and maybe something else. "Are you?"

He nodded, but wouldn't look at her when he did.

They sat in silence for a minute. Carol took in the others huddled quietly in the dimly lit room, maybe twenty in all. "Is this all?"

When he didn't respond, she asked again. "Is this all that's left?"

At last, he shook his head. "There's likely more left in the dorm. The ones that locked themselves in. More what ran off when it started. Had to pull the gate to keep out the herd. Some of them that headed outside the walls might have made it. Just...don't know how many yet."

She let the weight of the words dissolve. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours. Almost light outside. Gonna see what's left soon as it is. Soon as we're sure the herd's passed us by."

Across from them, a woman sobbed quietly into her knees. Matthew sat alone by a wall. Carol noticed Ali tending to Red's bleeding arm and swung her eyes back to Daryl.

"You're wet," she observed numbly.

"Started to snow. It helped put out the fire."

Mutely, she nodded and watched him absently scratch his bloody arm. "What now?"

"Wait 'til it's light."

Pushing herself off her elbows, she sat up for the first time. Scooting around, she settled her back against the wall, gasping against the dizziness that hit her like a wave. Daryl looked over in alarm as he shifted to sit beside her. "You okay?"

"Fine," she managed through tightened lips.

"Want some water?"

"No." Carol swallowed against the tossing in her stomach. A breath of bitter air cleared her head, and the pinkish hues of dawn began to tint the room. "Daryl?"

He turned to her, but after a moment, she shook her head over her closing throat. Instead, her fingers crept over to where his lay splayed on the tile. Her palm came to rest lightly on the back of his hand.

He watched them, her delicate fingers, pale and streaked in dirt, covering the filth of his own bloody hand. He realized she was shaking. Freezing, too. Still, the gentle weight soothed the rushing in his head. She was here. She was _alive_. He hadn't lost her again. Despite whatever else that had happened, he still had _her_.

Underneath her trembling fingers, his hand turned. Twisted to match his palm against hers. Wove their fingers together against the cold tile floor.

Her temple came to rest against his shoulder as together they waited, hands tangled in the rising light.


	14. Dawn

**The Long Road Home**

When it was light, they made their way out.

The bitter, lingering haze of smoke still hung in the air. Despite the layer of fresh snow that had fallen, it clung to them, choked them, as they went about their solemn task. The slushy, melting snow muddied their clothes as they trudged through the yard. Above them, the charred, blackened remains of the clinic building sagged defeated against a gray sky.

Most of the herd seemed to have passed the compound by. The gate had held, more or less. In the chaos of the attack, Pete had forced it together with nothing much more than his own brute strength, but it stood up against most of the herd. Only a few slipped past the broken boards, and those were dealt with swiftly enough. The old blue Chevy remained sagging against the wall's cracked and listing side. Daryl kept his eyes from the blood coloring the dirt beneath its open door and from the lifeless form still resting at its side.

Daryl, Pete, and some others cleared the courtyard. Not wanting to risk the noise of their precious few rounds of ammunition, most of the work fell to Daryl's bow and the others' knives. Together, they took out the few stumbling walkers that remained. Some had made their way in from the herd. Others bore snarling faces he'd seen grinning around the camp. Hearing a shuffle from his left, Daryl turned, poised to fire on another. He paused when he recognized the clouded face.

His finger twitched, and he had to blink before he could shoot. Old Ted, who talked about the cars like they were his kids. Ted with the doctor daughter somewhere out west. He blinked again, but when it lurched forward with a rasping snarl, he had to shoot. It fell to the mud. Stepping forward, Daryl bent for the bolt.

The man's throat had been slashed. Likely one of the first as he tried to protect his cars. Tried to protect them all from this betrayal. His skull released the bolt with a sickening squish. Daryl swallowed the tossing in his gut. "Sorry, man."

* * *

After that, they moved on to the dorm.

He'd tried to stop Matthew from going in. Had met him at the end of the hall where Rose had fallen. "_Naw, man. Don't need to see_ -"

But Matthew had pushed on past, and Daryl had walked out into the gray day to avoid the broken sound of his sobs.

They started with the halls and stairwells. To Daryl's surprise, they found only a few walkers. They stepped over others, stilled in the halls, as they made their way.

After the halls, they split off and cleared the rooms. It took longer than he'd hoped, but caution was foremost on all of their minds. Most on the two lower floors had fled into the yard at the first sounds of trouble. Those that hadn't fought or fled had barricaded themselves in their rooms. They found more alive than Daryl had feared, but the numbers were still far too grim.

On the third floor, he did a cursory check of Carol's room before backing away. They were almost done. Only one room to go. He tapped on the door to alert anyone living of his intent to enter, then stepped back as Pete turned the latch. He swung in ready to strike, but dropped the bow at finding it clear. He turned to leave, but paused when he heard the sound.

Raising his hand to still Pete, Daryl crouched. Next to the bed, practically hidden in the shadow, there was a boy. The one with the leg from the cafeteria when he'd first came. The one that had played soccer with -

He shook his head against that thought. His arms itched with drying blood.

Daryl struggled to retrieve the limping boy's name. "Luke, right?"

The kid inhaled a terrified breath. Daryl was suddenly too aware of his own bloodstained shirt. Wordlessly, the kid nodded.

Pete edged back in the room. "You got this?"

"Yeah," Daryl warned him off with a gesture and turned back to the boy. "You alone in here?"

Wide-eyed, he nodded. "My aunt, she..."

Daryl winced, remembering the woman slumped and bitten in the hall just outside. Remembering how Carol had pried his bolt from her head as they'd left their room the night before. "Yeah." He didn't figure there was much else to say. "C'mon. Let's get you outta here." Straightening, he held out a hand.

The kid looked at him for a minute before letting Daryl help him up to his feet. When he wasn't curled up in that little ball, Daryl could see him shiver.

"You cold?" His hands reached for the thin little shoulders, automatically trying to rub some warmth into them. His filthy skin darkened the shirt.

The kid looked almost confused. "No," he answered.

Not cold, just terrified, Daryl realized. "'Kay," he said, pulling away. "You stay behind me and we're gonna make our way out. Halls are clear, but you stay behind me. Got it?"

Luke nodded his understanding, and they stepped out the door.

They hadn't gone more than five feet when Daryl remembered. "Shit," he swore softly. Turning back to the kid, he nudged him over to his right side. It was too late, though. His eyes were already trained on what used to be his aunt.

"Hey," Daryl crouched between the boy and the corpse with the curly brown hair. "Don't look." He waited while the kid tore his eyes away. "Ain't _her_ no more. Just keep walking, okay?"

The kid's eyes flickered over one more time, but then he nodded and followed Daryl into the day.

* * *

There were others. So many others. Jonesy and Tim, some of the kids. Some who'd taken refuge in the woods made their way back. Far too many of those were simply just gone.

Ali and Carol had spent the morning seeking to salvage what they could from the burnt remains of the clinic building. The pile of charred supplies, stacked next to the lobby building, was woefully small.

"I don't understand how someone could do this." Ali's words were choked with tears while Carol wove an arm around her shoulders. "What kind of people would do this?"

Across from them, Daryl winced at the words as he thought of the quarry. Merle, him, and what they'd planned. Before the thought could take further hold, Pete motioned him away.

* * *

Finally, they gathered in the courtyard.

"What do we do now?" Ali's small voice cut through the silence. She stood just to the side of a solemn Matthew, who hunched behind a kneeling, drawn, Bernard.

Her words died away, unanswered, at first, by anyone else in their tiny circle. Red, his arm wrapped and patched but bleeding through the gauze, knelt next to Bernard. Carol stood quietly next to Daryl as Pete leaned on a shovel across the way. Around them, those who were left also gathered nearby or numbly drifted about while performing the tasks that had to be done.

"How many left?" Daryl looked to Pete.

"Lost thirteen in the dorm. Another sixteen from outside. Some that were out there in the camp, they scattered when it all went down. Some from inside the walls, too, so it seems. I'm not sure how many that leaves."

"We need to get a head count." Bernard stared at the ground. He absently thumbed the gold ring on his finger. The words landed flatly. "See for sure what we've got left."

Charlotte stepped closer. "I can do that."

"No, dear. I'll do that." Daryl looked up to see the old woman with the perpetually aching back move forward from the mingling crowd around them. Mrs. Dearborn's cane was stained and blackened with mud. She looked to Charlotte. "They'll need you for other things."

Bernard merely nodded at the exchange and fell silent again. The old woman began making her way through the crowd, but paused and turned back. She tilted her head to look behind Daryl. Luke peered around the hunter's side. The kid had followed him for the last half hour, and Daryl hadn't known how to send him away or even who to send him toward. "Come on, Luke." She held out a wrinkled, knobby hand. "You can help me count."

The kid looked up at Daryl with questioning eyes. It took him a moment to realize the kid was asking _permission_ to go. At his nod, Luke stepped around and took the woman's hand. He kept turning back over his shoulder until they were out of sight.

Pete shifted his weight over the shovel. "Looks like it was about six of 'em from the camp what planned it."

"Six people did all of this?" Carol bit her lip after the words. Daryl watched carefully from her side. She wasn't wearing her coat, still lying in a heap back in the dorm. He should have grabbed it when he cleared the room. As he watched, she shivered slightly with the cold. If he'd thought to grab his poncho, he'd have placed it on her shoulders.

Matthew broke his silence. "Near as we can tell, they planned it for a while. Took out maybe ten or twelve so that they'd turn, cause confusion." He paused to draw a shaky breath. Daryl knew he thought of his ma. "Took our supplies. Then set fire to what was left."

Charlotte twisted the end of her long braid of hair. "What'd they get?"

Carol sighed. "All our medicine. Supplies. A lot of the food." She shook her head.

"I couldn't stop them," Ali wrapped an arm around her waist. Her wrist bruised purple against the gray light. Ali's wrist, Red's arm. It seemed to Daryl that the only color left stemmed from their wounds. "It was Mike and two others that came to the clinic. I thought they needed help so I let them in. Then they-"

Carol looked at her sternly as she cut the girl off. "It wasn't your fault."

"But if I'd just-"

"Nothin' you coulda done," Daryl said quietly. "They'd a found some other way to get it."

Matthew wound an arm around Ali's shoulders, but the girl just lowered her head. He rubbed his temple over his reddened eye. "What else is gone?"

Daryl scratched at his arm. "Batteries. Some of the guns, though most of them was in the back of that car." He looked to the Chevy against the fence and sighed. "They knew what they were looking for and how to grab it fast. Must of had it planned for a while. Took the stuff that's harder to just go out and find."

"We should go after them."

Bernard turned to look up at his son's words. "What good would that do?" He turned to look back at the dirt. "We don't even know where they headed."

"Malengo," Matthew spoke. Carol's head snapped up in surprise. "We know where they are."

Pete narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

Daryl shifted uncomfortably. He let his eyes drift over to the old blue Chevy. "Kid told us...before he died." He felt Carol's eyes on him, but didn't look up. "He planned it with them. Was meant to join 'em, but...guess he got left behind."

Red tapped against his arm and pointed out to the west. He gestured out somewhere beyond the gate and then to his mouth. Pete nodded in understanding as he pieced it together. "Herd came at us from the west. "They'd of run right into it if they headed for Malengo."

"Unless they went around," Carol offered. "Might have headed south first. Could have avoided most of it that way."

"How would they know to do that? They were out before most of the herd came in. Probably thought it was just a few walkers until they hit the brunt."

There was silence for a moment before anyone spoke.

"There's a town about thirty miles out." Bernard pulled himself up from the ground. "Haven't been there in a while. We could look there for supplies."

Matthew shook his head. "And spend days and days trying to find what we need? Hope we happen on to the right supplies? We know where they are. We should head for Malengo."

"They've got what they want. They'll leave us be without a fight."

"You don't know that! Look what they did!"

"Matthew's right." Carol's quiet words cut through the confusion of rapidly rising voices. "They could come back. And some of those drugs they took are necessary right now. We'll lose more without them. And if there's an epidemic like last winter..."

"So we go after them," Daryl muttered in conclusion. The rest were silent at his words. "See if we can take 'em. Maybe get lucky and they ran into the herd. Maybe not and there's a fight. Head toward Malengo. Worst happens and we don't find 'em, we can scavenge the towns out that way before coming back. Either way, we gotta go. Stayin' here arguin' won't do any good."

Daryl waited. At last, Bernard gave the barest nod.

He swallowed and shouldered the bow. "That's the plan, then." He looked up. Most of the day had passed as they cleared the camp. He hadn't realized how late it was. "Losin' light fast. We best be leavin' soon."

* * *

The next ten minutes flew past in a blur. Once the decision was made, there was no need to wait. Daylight was fading, but waiting through another night wasn't an option. Not for this.

The two remaining cars were readied as plans were made. Pete and Daryl would take one. Red, Charlotte, and Matthew would drive the other. That left plenty of room for what they hoped to reclaim. Daryl had briefly tried to convince Matthew to stay, but the younger man wouldn't be swayed. "Stay with your pa, with Ali." _With Carol, _he'd thought. But Matthew had shaken his head and reached for a gun. In the end, Daryl had to admit that, if they had to fight, they'd likely need him out on the road.

He'd made sure Carol had a gun. Had checked her ammunition as she pressed a list of the most necessary drugs into his hand and disappeared at an urgent call. Before he could tell her to wait, she'd darted away. He felt a lingering unease at leaving her behind, but she and Ali were almost overwhelmed by the number of those in need. So many wounds from the night before. Gunshots. Wounds. _Scratches. _Without the most basic supplies, let alone drugs to treat infections and the ever-present cough, he knew things would only get worse.

He'd given Ali a gun, too, with his eyes half on Carol's retreating form. "You know how to use this?"

The girl had looked at him solemnly with the blood still smudged across her cheek. "I know how."

"Use it if you need to."

She'd nodded gravely and someone outside had shouted his name.

Weaving through the courtyard, he waved to Alan up in the crow's nest keeping watch. He was one of the few stronger men they'd been able to leave behind. One of the few they had left. The fence around the dorm, the one that was supposed to expand the camp, lay forgotten. Alan looked down.

"Anything that ain't one of us and won't leave, you shoot," Daryl reminded.

Alan nodded solemnly and turned back to scan the horizon. Bernard made his way up to join the loft and cover their exit while his son ran for a car. He clasped Daryl's hand along the way, but his usual good humor was flatly gone.

"Daryl-" Pete motioned from next to the gate. The cars were loaded with the few guns they could spare. The passenger door to the old station wagon stood open and awaiting his arrival.

Daryl offered only a distracted nod. Everything had turned so fast. His unease at leaving Carol swelled painfully inside his chest. She'd been called away before...He hadn't had a chance to-

"We gotta go, man!" Pete called insistently from his place at the open gate. The larger man swung into the car. The other vehicle, with Charlotte at the wheel, edged out on the road. Frantically, Daryl searched the figures in the courtyard, trying to find -

"We gotta close this back up!" Alan insisted from the perch. There were still a few walkers just outside, the lingering remains of the herd.

He kept looking. "Just a-"

It died in his throat when he finally found her, rising from over a pile of charred supplies.

He didn't know what the words needed to be. Didn't know what he wanted to say. Stay safe. Stay _here_._ Be_ _here_ when all this is through. None of them were quite enough. There weren't words for what he wanted to say. Even if there were, he wouldn't have been able to force them out of his throat.

In the hours after, he'd wonder why he never even stopped to consider what happened next. Wonder how it was that his feet started moving toward her and covered the uneven ground between them without his consent.

All he knew was that they did. That, in an instant, he stood before her, hurried and frantic with his chest heaving, desperate for her to know all the things he couldn't say. She looked up at him with those eyes, bright against the paleness of her skin and the gray of the camp around them. His blackened hand raised her chin. Fingers fell to grip her cheek. He leaned in without waiting for any sort of indication.

And then, his lips met hers a little too hard. No hesitation and no plan. No thought and no tenderness. Just a bruising, fleeting, _desperate_ touch before he jolted himself away. Daryl held her shocked gaze as he jogged a couple steps back. Without a word, he tore his eyes from hers and made for the car.


	15. The Spaces Between

**The Long Road Home**

Fuck.

_Fuck._ What had he done?

Daryl had to fight to keep his eyes on the road, aiding Pete in scanning the ditches and crossroads for any signs of trouble. The aging station wagon bounced along faster than it should have as Pete swerved to avoid the gaping potholes in the cement. All the while the former wrestler kept his foot on the gas, trying in vain to make up for a day's worth of lost time as they headed out toward Malengo.

_Fuck._ He'd kissed her. He'd kissed Carol.

His mind kept reeling back to that undeniable fact even as he tried to keep his eyes on Charlotte's tail lights up ahead. Pete flicked on the headlights as they made their way vaguely west.

He swore he could still feel her cheek under his palm. Still hear the shocked little inhale of breath she'd gasped as he closed in. There was no denying it happened. His brain kept playing it over and over every damn time he blinked. But _why_ he'd done it, well, that was a tougher place for his thoughts to settle.

It had all come up on him so fast. The attack and the aftermath. He'd thought he lost her the night before. It took too damn long to wake her up, and even when she had, he hadn't been entirely certain for a moment that... But she was okay. Alive and holding his hand before he quite knew how it happened. And all too soon, he'd been torn away yet again by this mission they were on.

And he was tired. They all were. They'd slept maybe two hours the night before only to work relentlessly through the day as they tried desperately to salvage what was left. And now, as the sun set before them, Daryl knew that the night that awaited them would bring no relief. Even as he sat in the passenger seat of the station wagon, he knew he was running on sheer adrenaline.

It had all happened so damn fast.

She'd been standing there in the courtyard and for a second everything just slowed. All he saw was her. All he could think was to tell her the million things he'd been wanting to say before the world dropped out from underneath their feet.

And he couldn't. Never could. Not back then at the prison or during that winter they spent on the road, back when those niggling thoughts first started whispering at the back of his skull. Not that night when he stumbled into Haven and the realized that it was really her standing at the gate. Not that day out in the snow or any of the hundred other times he wanted to. And then last night, everything went all to hell. It all crashed down around them and he couldn't find the words. Hadn't had the time or the skill even if he could.

So, he'd kissed her. Kissed her in front of the entire camp without any warning and without any finesse. His sole consolation was that everyone else was so wrapped up in their own tragedies, he figured maybe no one had seen and no one knew. Except, of course, for Carol.

She hadn't even responded to it. Not that he'd given her much of a chance. Even as he leaned in - too fast, too hard - he'd been ready to bolt. And bolt he had, immediately after. He couldn't even chance a look back in the rearview mirror. His gut turned with all the possibilities of things he didn't want to see in her eyes.

And, fuck. Now she was there and he was here on what was probably a suicide run with little more than revenge to arm them. Daryl found himself both desperate to get back to her and terrified of what would happen once - _if_ - he did.

Scowling, he squinted into the dusk. Up ahead, he could just make out something lying in the road. Pushing back his internal thoughts, Daryl forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Jittery with nerves, he was almost glad for the distraction. Pete hit the brakes, slowing to a stop next to Charlotte's car, which had stilled just ahead of the object. Daryl rolled down his window so the two could speak. "You see that?"

She nodded grimly with her hands clutching the wheel. From her passenger seat, Matthew responded in kind. "Is it what I think?"

Daryl gripped his bow and opened his door. His eyes swept the lonely road. "Think it is." His boots hit pavement. "Let's go."

* * *

Carol had watched, stunned, as the car slipped through the gates. She stared after as the tires kicked up a muddy spray while it accelerated down the road. Paralyzed, she stood there until they forced the gates shut and Daryl was gone. Her fingertips drifted up to her lips.

He'd kissed her. It had taken her own shocked mind a few minutes to process the fact that it had really even occurred. That it hadn't been some sort of an accident, that she hadn't manufactured his intent.

But, no.

He'd kissed her.

Kissed her hard and fast and slightly too far off to the side. _Kissed_ her, and then ran for the car like it was the only way he'd survive. And maybe, it was. Maybe it was the only way any of them would.

And now he was out there, and she was left here and she couldn't shake the childish impulse that none of this was _fair_. That everything kept moving on around her and there just wasn't _time. _

She and Ali had spent the remains of the day doing what they could. They'd taken the worst into the lobby and tended to them there. Had done what they could for a badly broken leg and two gunshot wounds. They'd wrapped wound after wound with strips of cloth torn from thinning sheets. They'd improvised. They'd tried. They'd ended it when that was the only option left.

Carol had done what needed to happen for the victim of a bite. With a gnawing dread of the inevitable, she prepared to do the same for a scratch.

The clinic was a total loss. All the days and months of setting up and gathering supplies were ripped away in a single night. Their supplies were taken or burned beyond use. So many of their people were gone between one sunset and the next. Gone without any warning at all, just like the prison and the farm before it. She was starting to think -

"Carol?" Ali's soft voice, tinged with exhaustion, drew her back and away from her thoughts. She looked down, feeling once again the cold wind on her cheek. The pan of water before her boiled over the fire. They needed to sterilize what they could. "You okay?"

She tried for something like reassurance as she nodded and removed the pan, preparing to haul it back into the lobby. Ali slid another filled with melting snow into its place. "Yeah."

"Do you think they'll be back tonight?"

Mentally, Carol calculated the distance and sighed at the darkening sky. She doubted they'd return by morning. Maybe not even the following day. If they found the men who'd done this...if they were holed up in that town...if they had to look elsewhere for supplies...if they had to fight...if they were hurt... She turned to Ali and tried to school her features into concealing her thoughts. "They'll be back as soon as they can."

"What if -"

"They'll be back." The words were expelled with far more certainty than she felt. Carol swallowed and tried to push down the fear. She took in Ali's pale, frightened face and wondered if hers looked the same. Softening, she added, "Matthew will be fine."

"How do you know? What if they run into-"

"They'll be back," she repeated. "Daryl will make sure of it."

He always came back.

* * *

Daryl nudged open the box lying bent and discarded at the side of the road. He'd known from a distance what it was. Had carried enough of the crates for Carol to recognize their clinic supplies when he saw them. Peeling back the cardboard only confirmed what he already knew.

"That one of ours?" Pete called.

"Yeah." Daryl scooped up the box and jogged back toward the car. Depositing it in the back seat, he nodded at Charlotte as the rest reclaimed their seats as well. "Must've fallen out or something when they went around that bend. Had to be traveling pretty fast."

"So we're on the right track," Matthew observed. "Sons of bitches came this way."

"Looks like it." Daryl swung back to his seat and they jolted away.

* * *

Night passed into morning, and they didn't return. Shortly after dawn, two men carried a sheet-cloaked body out of the lobby while Carol washed the blood from her hands and knelt to the floor. Carefully, she guided the last of their painkillers down a young man's throat and checked his fractured leg. Too swollen and the color all wrong. Behind her, she heard the wheezing breath of a gunshot wound. Outside, the vague rhythm of something else.

Ali stirred from her position against the wall. She'd passed out a short time ago, and Carol hadn't had the heart to wake her. Jerking awake, she rubbed her eyes. "Are they back?"

"Not yet."

The girl crawled to her feet and peered numbly at an empty space on the bloodstained floor. "Did you-"

"Couldn't wait any longer." Carol swallowed. "He was scratched. I had to do it. He knew...He just wanted a few more hours."

"You should have woke me up."

"I had it covered." Carol leaned back on the tile. "Anyway, you were only out a few minutes. You needed the rest."

"So do you." The girl stretched her neck wearily before squinting in concentration. She stiffened. "What's that noise?" The scraping rhythm drifted in from outside. Again and again it repeated itself.

Carol numbly recalled the familiar sound. Shovels scratching and clawing through the rocky soil. She'd know it anywhere by now.

"Graves," she swallowed. "They're digging the graves."

* * *

Pete hadn't led them a half a mile down the road before they spotted another box. Then another. Then a larger lump on the highway before them.

"Slow down," Daryl ordered. Behind him he saw Charlotte do the same.

Guided by the yellow glare of their headlights, they eased forward. At last, the cars edged to a stop. Daryl stepped uneasily out his door. The walker was dead, crushed and grotesquely twisted between the lanes. Daryl stepped past its rotting form. Kneeling, he examined the swerving tire marks on the road.

"Got another crate over here." Pete called back softly as he jogged ahead.

Red crouched beside Daryl, then wandered off to where the road dropped off down a steep bank. He tapped his hands together softly and motioned for Daryl to come.

As he approached, Red signaled for quiet. The hair stood up on the back of Daryl's neck. He heard it with a shift in the wind. _Smelled_ it drifting up from the bottom of the ravine. "Cut the lights," he hissed.

Charlotte did as he asked on both cars.

Daryl stood at Red's shoulder, peering down into the rapidly blanketing dark. The grass under his feet lay flattened into the dirt. As his eyes adjusted, Daryl saw the ground down the embankment begin to move. Just a bit at first, then his eyes made out more and more until the whole surface of the valley seemed to crawl. "Son of a bitch," he whispered.

Lowly, Daryl signaled for the rest to join them at the drop-off's edge. Together they crouched at the top of the hill. Charlotte jerked at the distant sound of shattering glass.

Pete wiped his head as he watched in horror. "Must be at least a hundred. Maybe two."

"Too many to take," Matthew muttered. He peered down at the mangled metal in the midst of the snarling herd. Blood darkened the chrome. "Guess they got what they deserved."

Some three hundred feet down in the brush stood the truck that had carried away their supplies, toppled and crushed and completely swarmed.

* * *

Morning passed into afternoon before she heard the rumble on the road that led up to the camp. Rushing out from the kitchen, Carol shaded her eyes against the sun. The pounding in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

They pulled the gates open. Her heart thudded even harder when the car rolled through. Her whole body seemed to shake with its every beat. The car eased through from the road beyond.

_One_ car.

They'd taken two.

Through the grime of the windshield, she could just make out Pete driving the wagon. Saw Charlotte in the passenger seat and someone else crouched in the back. Her ears began to roar. She took a stumbling step forward and tried to blink to clear her eyes. Tried to see the third man.

From behind her, Ali scrambled toward the car. Carol's feet wouldn't seem to move.

Matthew emerged from the backseat. Ali flew into his arms.

The car was empty.

_He wasn't there._

Icy rivers streaked down her spine.

She pushed herself forward. Pete stepped back and opened the trunk.

She couldn't find the words. It was happening again. That day at the prison with her peering into an empty car and trying everything she could not to fall apart. She'd sobbed silently against Rick's chest, but even that was gone now.

Charlotte reached for something in the seat beside her, then emerged with a crate. Her brain dimly recognized their supplies. She scanned the road beyond the wall desperately, looking for the second car. Matthew shouted up something she couldn't understand, and at Alan's signal they pulled the gate. It shut unevenly with a groaning crack, blocking her view of the road ahead.

The gate shut, and he wasn't there.

Pete reached into the trunk again, but stopped when he caught Carol's approach. He stepped to her, away from the car with a hand raised in the air.

"Where -" It was all she could get out.

"He's fine." The simple words fell over top of her cry.

She felt like she was shrinking as Pete's mountainous form drew near. Felt dizzy on her own legs. His giant hands grasped her shoulders and she wondered if she looked like she was about to go down. Someone else brushed against her back.

"Daryl's fine," Pete repeated, drawing her a few steps farther from the crowd gathering around the car. "We headed for a town just outside of Malengo. Were loading up on supplies when some walkers came in."

Her lips parted in shock. "You left him?"

"No. He stayed back at first so we could get out. Distracted them. Then he headed out the opposite way."

She shook her head. This couldn't be happening again. "I don't understand. He's still back there?"

"He _got out_, Carol." She couldn't even feel his hands digging in to her shoulders. Could barely focus enough to look Pete in the eye and realize he was telling the truth. "All Daryl had to do was just head north for a while, then find a way to circle around and get back here. He has Red with him. They'll make their way back."

"What if he couldn't get out? What if -"

"I _saw_ them leave. Was just a tiny little town with the highway running through and buildings on either side. I had a clean shot to see it. We all did." He glanced toward Charlotte and Matthew. "Only one road through town. We headed out south. They headed out north with the walkers in between. He's _fine_. Just gonna take a while for them to circle back here. He said to tell you he'd be back."

Matthew made his way over, Ali at his arm. "You tell her?"

Pete nodded.

"They're fine, Carol. Just sent us back first with what supplies we had. He's in the faster car. This old station wagon doesn't move nearly as fast as what he's got. And he's got Red. It was_ his_ plan."

Carol inhaled and tried to slow the prickles of panic in her chest. Swallowing, she nodded and blinked at the few crates being moved to the lobby just off the kitchen. "How did you get these back?"

Matthew shifted. "Found what was left of the ones what took them. Truck went down in a ravine. Must've been the herd - or part of it - that forced it off the road. Car wasn't too far behind. Bunch of walkers around it, too. We got what we could, but..." Ali's white hand wrapped around his arm. "The ones that did this are dead. Herd was still swarming over them. Happened before we even got there."

Pete shrugged. "There were too many of the bastards around the bodies to pick up any more supplies. Least a hundred. Too few of us, too little ammo. Maybe try again in a few days and see if anything's left. We got what we could before the damn things got too interested in us and we had to split. We headed for the nearest town to try to find more this morning. There was a drugstore...got a few things there before the walkers found us. Daryl's got the rest of what we found in his car."

Matthew eased an arm around Ali's shoulder. "Wouldn't have got half of what we did if Daryl hadn't come up with a way to get us all out of there."

Carol nodded. This was Daryl. He'd make his way back. "How long?"

Matthew squinted in confusion. "How long what?"

She felt like she couldn't get the words out fast enough. "How long until he should be here?"

Pete shrugged at her frustrated blurt. "Couple hours maybe? Map we had says his route'll take him 'bout sixty miles out of his way. That's if he don't run into anything else."

"He'll be back, Carol." Matthew leaned down to catch her eye. "We wouldn't have left him if he wasn't in the clear. This was the plan. His plan. He said to tell you-"

"I know." She exhaled. "He'll come back."

* * *

It was the waiting, she thought, that was the worst. That sickening, all-consuming dread that invaded her every breath. Her hands shook with the fear she couldn't quite contain. Ali kept watching her with guilty concern.

Three hours passed, and then four.

Just when she thought she'd break, thought that her muscles were so tense they were brittle, she heard the engine on the pitted road.

Relief like a heat flooded her blood.

She made her way just outside the cafeteria lobby to find the gates already open, but she held her breath until she knew. Until she saw him step from the car with the bow on his back. She could have collapsed in sheer relief.

He was there.

He came back.

He always did.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know. He finally kisses her, and then they're separated for an entire chapter. I'm sorry! I brought him back as soon as I could. The next one will make up for it, I promise! **

**Side question - Do we know for sure what happened to Rick's badge? I can't for the life of me recall. Is there a scene that shows it? If you know, I'd love a pm with the info!**


	16. Instinct

**The Long Road Home**

He was there.

She could have collapsed in sheer relief.

Alive and climbing out of the car with a crate in his hands and his bow on his back. Red emerged from the passenger side.

Carol stumbled. Looking down in surprise, she could see herself shake.

He spoke a few words to the others and handed off the crate. They'd surrounded the car ahead of her, blocking her view. It seemed the whole camp was there, flooding the ground between her and Daryl. Rising to her toes, she struggled to see. Somehow, her feet wouldn't move, wouldn't carry her any closer to him. Frozen to the concrete walkway and impatient with the flickering glimpses she caught, Carol's nails found her palms and dug little half-moons until the mob finally thinned.

Matthew stepped to the side, and there he was, still hovering next to the car. He reached in for another crate and stepped away. Handing it off, he paused, and she could see the worry in his eyes as he scanned the backs of those who were walking away.

He searched as she watched. His eyes darted around the courtyard with a growing sense of urgency until at last his gaze landed on her.

She could see, even so far away, how his chest heaved once she was in his sights. Imagined that her own was doing the same.

She couldn't bring herself to smile, let alone try to speak or call out to him. She still couldn't force her feet move. Just stood there as he did, locked together so far away.

Finally, he broke. Offered her the barest hint of an unsure nod. Vision blurring with tears, she did the same.

He watched her for a second more before being torn away by the task at hand.

* * *

He didn't see her, _really_ see her, until so much later that same night.

He'd tried to get to her, but there was so much to do. And, though he cursed himself for it, there were moments when the memory of that kiss would take over and he was glad for the distraction of a gate to mend or supplies to move. Glad for a reason not to find out his fate. Grateful for something else to postpone the inevitable hurt that would come when she, in her quiet and patient way, would tear his heart into two.

The gate desperately needed reinforced. The wall needed work where the kid's car had hit. They still needed food and basic supplies. Those in the outer camp had been moved within the walls, and anything of value dragged inside. There was talk of another run the next day or the one after that. Plans were made to head back out to the ravine and see, in a couple days, if the herd had cleared and if there was anything left. Every damn time he got up the courage and tried to get to her, something else pulled him away.

Carol and Ali had sorted the supplies by firelight, then decided to move them to the back of the lobby into the little kitchen area that had once been Rose's domain. Ali directed most of the work while Carol, it seemed, looked after their patients. One with a broken leg, a couple gunshot wounds. There was an old man that Daryl guessed must have had a stroke in the middle of things. All this he caught in bits and pieces, blurred images as he pushed from one hopeless task onto the next.

At some point, Carol sent Ali off for sleep with the girl promising to return midway through the night. The others that had helped with the wounded drifted away. They'd managed to settle the injured in the lobby for the time being, dealing as well as they could with what Daryl and the others had brought back. Someone hauled in unused beds from the dorm across the way.

There were too many of those available now.

At last the camp fell into the guarded silence of night. Finished, for now, with the most necessary of the repairs to the gate, Daryl made his way back over to the cars. In the chaos of his arrival, he'd pulled the car in and pocketed the key. Habit, he figured, from a lifetime ago. Fingering the cool metal, he replaced it on the little rack Ted had made. The old man had a slot for every car, each precisely labeled in his careful hand. Daryl had done one more sweep of the back seat and found a tiny parcel wedged under the bench.

They'd tossed in what they could at that drugstore and from the ravine. He wasn't even sure what all they'd grabbed. At the time, he'd figured anything with a label couldn't hurt. Anything at all was better than what they had. He only wished they could have brought back more.

Feeling the weight of the last two days, he made his way over to Carol.

She was alone, except for her patients. Bent over a bed, she must not have heard him walk in. He blinked and that kiss came flooding back.

He scuffed his feet on the tile to get her attention. He didn't like to startle her. Not when they were already so on edge. "Where, um, where do ya want this?" He held out the box. "It's the last of what we brought back." She turned in surprise, and Daryl realized with some shame that they were the first words he'd spoken to her since he'd returned. There were so many things he'd wanted to say, but the overwhelming relief he'd felt at seeing her had shifted into an unease about that kiss they'd shared.

No, not _shared_. He scowled. That kiss he'd forced on her as he'd left. He didn't know what to say to her or how she'd react. And then the evening had slipped away into darkness and he was left with this chasm of uncertainly yawning between them.

Straightening, she watched as he hesitated in the doorway, shifting a box in his roughened hands. He was stooped a bit with his head tucked down, and she wondered vaguely if his shoulder hurt or if it was something more. "Over there's fine." She gestured to the little kitchen area just off the lobby and around the corner. He ducked away, but she didn't miss the way his boots dragged a bit more than usual as he walked.

He dropped the box on a disappointing pile accumulating by an unused stove. Then he stood for a minute, chewing his thumb next to the sink. He wasn't at all sure of his place with her now. Wanted just a second to gather his thoughts before he faced her again. He wished, for an instant, to take that kiss back. Or to do it all different like the ideas that had floated around inside of his head. The ideas he'd tried to push away for the better part of the last couple months. He hadn't meant for it to happen. At least, not like that.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Daryl realized she'd left the lobby and followed him in. Wondering how long he'd been standing there, he half turned and acknowledged her presence with a nod. "You need anything else?"

She hadn't come very close. Part of him was grateful for the space, while the other half blamed himself for her distance.

From the doorway, Carol shook her head. "No. We're as set as we can be for now. Should last a few more days. I'm staying here tonight, at least for a while."

He nodded, chewing his thumb with his eyes on the floor.

She hated that he couldn't seem to look at her. "You should head over and try to sleep."

Daryl shrugged. He turned over the idea of offering to stay with her in the lobby, but figured maybe she'd be uncomfortable with that after what he'd done. Maybe it'd be best if he just let her be. Maybe that's why she was sending him away. Maybe it'd be best if-

"Daryl?" The word came out as a quiet whisper, but it pulled him from his thoughts nonetheless.

He looked up, his hand falling forgotten down to his side. Carol was watching him with those blue eyes. She bit her lip, and even through the haze of his own exhaustion, he could see she was scared. That she'd put up a brave front, done what needed doing, and now as the adrenaline and urgency wore off, the cold realization of their situation had wormed its way in.

She'd lost so many, even before all of this. And now those graves outside were piling up and he could see her pushed deeper and deeper with every last one.

His chest prickled. He didn't like that defeat in her eyes. Didn't like the way she seemed to blame herself. He'd gotten so he could read her well, could tell when things were just too much. And there she was before him, grief and sadness overcoming her face. His chest tugged painfully at the expression and almost overwhelmingly, he felt compelled to take it away.

"C'mere." He didn't even wait for her to react before he stepped forward, crossing the distance between them in three even strides. She barely had to take a step of her own before her head was turning and bending to rest on his chest. Automatically, his arms circled her shoulders and eased her in. With a hiccupping sob, she settled against him with her cheek just under his collar bone.

Only as his arms wound around her that way did he realize he'd really done it. He hadn't even thought - just reacted to some deep tug inside his gut. For the second time in as many days, he'd just acted on sheer instinct with her. But this was different, not like that kiss. Slower. Deliberate. He held onto her and he didn't want to pull away.

And then he realized how tiny she was. That she practically disappeared against his chest. That she fit there, like it was where she always belonged. Tightening his grip, he allowed his head to fall so that his mouth rested lightly against her hair. Inhaling her scent, he closed his eyes. "Gonna be alright," he mumbled. The words seemed so inadequate. So impossible after what had just occurred.

Her shoulders trembled under his arms, but she nodded slightly, burrowing her face into his neck. Brave, he nestled his cheek against her temple and slid one hand up to soothe the back of her head, working his fingers through her hair. "Gonna be alright," he repeated. It was all he had to offer. Words that couldn't fix what was done. Just a promise that somehow they'd come out on the other end. Or at least that he was gonna try like hell to make sure they did. He held on to her and swore all that inside his head.

In time, she pulled back slightly and he loosened his arms in anticipation of her movement, but she didn't step away. Instead, Carol tipped her forehead against his chest and looked down to stare at their shoes. "I was scared when you didn't come back with the rest."

His stomach clenched at her words. After a minute, Daryl nodded with his hands hovering at her back. He'd known, somehow, it wouldn't sit right. Had, in those last desperate minutes, sworn Pete and Matthew to tell her he'd come. Didn't want her to think...

He'd told Rick, back then, that she'd understand. And he knew that she had, but that in doing so she'd been pushed just a little too far. He hadn't wanted her for a minute to think that he'd ask that again. Or that he'd walk away and _leave_ her like Rick had done. He'd sworn to himself that first night by the gate he wouldn't lose her ever again.

There hadn't been a choice in that tiny little town.

But he'd scared her.

"'M sorry," he lowered his head, mumbling the words against her hair.

"That's not..." After a moment, she tilted her head up and found his eyes. She shook her head at the guilt plainly placed in those tired pools. "You don't have to be sorry. I know you did it because it was best."

And then she did step away, trailing one hand down his chest before tucking her fingers up under the cuffs of her sweater and angling her head down to the floor. "You should get some rest."

His arms felt empty and cold at the loss. "Sure you're okay here?" He was having a hard time turning away from her. Despite the mask she'd pulled on, that look wasn't entirely gone from her eyes. "Can stay if you want."

Steeling herself, she offered him a tired smile. "I'm sure." Someone coughed from the other room, and she ran one hand through her hair. "Besides, you wouldn't get much rest here tonight. And you need it."

The room spun a bit as he followed her back to the lobby, and even he had to agree that he needed to sleep. Wearily, he made a move toward the door. "You send someone for me if ya need anything. An' don't stay up all night yourself."

She nodded. "Daryl?"

He turned with his hand still on the knob.

She twisted her fingers while she spoke. "I was scared, but...I knew you'd come back."

When she looked up next, he was already gone.

She realized with a start that he'd held her and hadn't pulled away.

* * *

Back at the dorm, Daryl cleaned himself up in the trickle of water that somehow, miraculously still ran. After washing two days of hell off of his skin, he changed out of his blood-soaked clothes and retreated back to Carol's room.

It was strange standing in her space when she wasn't there. His nest of blankets remained where he'd thrown them off urgently two nights before, tangled and strewn on the ground in his haste. Carol's unmade bed betrayed the fact that she hadn't been back to the room either. Mentally, he chided her for not taking some opportunity to rest.

He began to straighten his mess on the ground, but the coughing fit surprised him and he had to pause to get his breath. Gathering himself, he straightened and let the tightness in his chest subside. His eyes flickered over to her bed.

Tentatively, Daryl placed a hand on the edge of the mattress. Ran it over the sheet covering the bed. Leaning forward, he realized dizzily just how exhausted he was. How much his shoulder had started to ache along with his chest. How much he longed to push it away, just for a bit.

For the first time, he sat on her bed. Just for a moment to take off his boots. His fingers fumbled with the laces. When at last they hit the floor, he let himself rest there for a second more.

It smelled like her. And, in some way he couldn't articulate, it felt like her. Warm and soft and he was overwhelmed by the sudden need to feel more.

He felt the pull of exhaustion dragging him, pushing him down. He didn't remember dimming the lamp. Didn't remember tugging up the quilt. His head met her pillow and that was all he knew.

* * *

In the darkness, the door opened. Daryl jerked awake from a heavy sleep. He reached automatically for his bow, but his arm was tangled in a quilt.

"Shh. It's just me. I didn't mean to wake you."

Carol's voice. In the darkness, he realized he was in her bed. _Shit._ He hadn't meant to -

She was removing her boots. They hit the floor as he struggled to sit.

"It's still dark," she whispered. "Stay there."

"Didn't mean ta fall..." He couldn't seem to rid his arm of the blanket. "I can take the -"

"Scoot back." And the bed dipped under her gentle weight.

He nearly panicked as she lifted the covers. "I can-"

"Just rest."

She settled herself on the edge of the bed. Pulling up the covers, she turned away from him with her forehead tipped off the side of the mattress. Mind spinning, Daryl backed himself up against the cold wall. In the time it took him to calm his heart, her muscles relaxed and he knew she was out.

Briefly, he considered edging out of the bed and leaving her be. Thought about heading out to walk the wall or moving on down to his nest on the floor.

But the warmth of the bed and the hypnotizing steadiness of her breaths had him lowering his head. He watched her back and listened to her inhale and exhale in the dark. She was here and alive and right next to him. So close he could touch her. And as soon as the thought struck, he found himself compelled by a craving to do just that.

Ever so slowly, he moved a tentative hand. Rolled up on his side facing her back. She didn't stir. Cautiously, he guided one arm to rest over her waist.

She shifted and he froze. Face flaming in the dark, he tensed and prepared to bolt, cursing himself for his own stupidity. But it seemed she wasn't drawing away. Daryl realized with a jolt that she was easing herself closer to him. After a few seconds she settled her back next to his chest. She never said a word, and he wondered if she'd been asleep the whole time. Slowly, he relaxed his arm around her. Let his fingers land lightly on her stomach. Felt them rise and fall with her every breath.

He stayed that way until sleep pulled him in.


	17. Promise

**The Long Road Home**

Daryl awoke just as the sun started to creep into their room. As he climbed into awareness, he realized Carol was still snuggled in next to him on the bed.

Just for a moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor the soft warmth of her presence. He drifted for a while, enjoying the feel of her breathing next to him and the rare contentment that came with her in his arms.

With wakefulness, though, came that old worry. If she knew what he'd done to that kid the night of the attack...if she knew what he and Merle had planned back at the quarry...if she knew any number of things, then he figured she'd realize he didn't deserve this.

She still hadn't mentioned that kiss.

And that contentment he'd felt dissolved into something like guilt. His heart picked up an erratic rhythm as his palms began to itch. He needed to move. Needed some time to think. Process whatever this was that was happening between them. And there was so much work that needed to be done.

Still, his fingers grazed her jaw as he removed his arm. So carefully, he peeled back the sheets and crawled his way off of the bed. Backed up against the wall like he was, removing himself wasn't easy but he didn't dare to stay. Slowly, his feet found the floor, toes curling at the unwelcome cold. She never stirred.

Daryl grabbed his boots and bow before pausing. He replaced the boots where he'd found them and retrieved a blanket from his unused bedding on the ground. Spreading it over Carol's sleeping form, he made sure that it covered all the way up to her chin.

Softly, he reclaimed his boots and left her to sleep.

* * *

He was gone by the time Carol awoke. Stretching, she felt the coolness of the sheets he'd left behind, so different from the gentle warmth of his chest pressed solidly against her back. She wondered when he'd snuck out. Sitting up, she fingered the blanket she was positive she'd stepped over the night before. He must have draped it over her when he left.

She hadn't meant to disturb him coming in. She'd expected to see him sprawled on the floor, not curled in her bed. Aside from the almost overwhelming force of exhaustion, she still wasn't certain what it was that made her brave enough to do what she had. Still, he hadn't moved when she'd slipped in beside him in the dead of night. Hazily, she remembered the security of his arm wrapped over her waist.

And now he was already gone and she needed to get herself back to the clinic.

_No, not the clinic_, she remembered with a sinking dread. That was gone, like so much else. She shivered, alone, underneath the freezing sheet.

* * *

It had been Daryl's idea to pull the mangled Chevy back away from the wall. They were down to only two cars in their working fleet. Repairing the Chevy would give them a third.

Unfortunately they soon found that, while the car may be able to be repaired, the wall was much less sturdy than they'd hoped. The collision had all but shattered the aging bricks. And ideas of fixing the car or more permanently rehinging the gate were put on hold as they worked to strengthen the wall.

Red concocted some sort of makeshift mortar as Matthew and Daryl moved brick after brick from the abandoned pile originally meant to help expand the perimeter of the settlement. The work was exhausting, and, at the same time, offered none of the blessed distraction a more difficult task might have provided. Midway through the morning, Daryl noticed Luke eyeing him from the edge of the courtyard.

Realizing he'd caught Daryl's attention, the kid limped over uncertainly, standing next to the pile of bricks and scavenged cinder blocks. Vaguely, Daryl wondered where he'd even stayed the night before and who was supposed to be watching him now.

The kid studied Daryl with hollow eyes. Deliberately, they flickered down to the bricks then slowly back up once again. With an ache he couldn't explain, Daryl found himself giving a reluctant nod. With his skinny arms straining, the kid picked up a brick and made his painful way over to the fractured wall. Silently, he limped back and repeated the task, handing off his burden to Red each time. Daryl watched with a burning throat while he lugged bricks of his own, but the kid never stopped. Worked into the afternoon alongside the men without a rest.

At last Daryl dropped a hand on the small, bony shoulder. "That's enough for today." Looking down, he saw that the kid's hands were worked raw. The tender flesh was scraped and inflamed. Tears swam in the kid's brown eyes when he looked up at Daryl, who patted him awkwardly. "Did real good," he added, and the words caught in his throat.

Head down, Luke turned.

Daryl's teeth ground together. He swore that smoke still hung in the air. Thought maybe it never cleared his mind from that night when he was a kid. Sometimes he'd wake, thinking he heard the sirens, too. "You got someone to stay with?"

The kid looked up as a hawk streaked across the sky. He watched it until it swerved out of view. Only then, he turned to answer. "Mrs. Dearborn. She said I could stay with her for now." Again he turned away to plod through the dirt.

"Hey," Daryl called out again. He thought over what he wanted to say. "Lot of work to get done. You come find me tomorrow?"

After a long moment, Luke agreed with a solemn nod.

"Okay, then," and Daryl turned for another armful of bricks.

They worked that way the entire day. After consulting with Bernard, they continued reinforcing beyond the area the car had damaged. Better to be prepared, Matthew had muttered, than to let something like this happen again. A herd could come at any time. _People_ could come at any time. They couldn't risk either of those things now.

Late in the afternoon, Carol brought them each food. It wasn't much - the last of the bread Rose had made and a few cans of food that hadn't been taken. Daryl's eyes met hers in dull realization. They needed to go on a run, and soon. She left them with cups of water before hurrying away.

Daryl sighed. Something else she'd taken on.

* * *

It wasn't until evening that he passed by the graves. He hadn't meant to see them, but somehow he wound up there nonetheless.

They'd lined them up as evenly as they could back behind the burnt remains of the clinic building. Daryl eyed the long, solemn rows. It must have taken a bunch of them damn near the whole day before and part of that morning to dig all of those. He walked down the line of markers hacked out of old, salvaged planks. Some of the names he didn't even know. A lot came from the outer camp. Daryl tried not to wonder about the one he had killed.

Other names, he remembered vaguely from the last couple of months. Familiar faces he'd worked with while trying to expand the wall or seen as they went to grab their meals. Some had passed through the clinic in the evening light.

He paused for a second as he passed Rose's grave. _Loving Wife and Mother_ read the script under her name. A few steps later and Daryl stuttered to an unwilling stop once again. He stood facing the plain wooden stake. _Ted Dunne._ An image of the old man in his overalls, tinkering with an engine with the delicacy of an artist flashed in his head. All the while he'd have been telling some story of his daughter the doctor miles away. Would have rambled on for hours without needing a reply.

He found the thick black marker they'd used to scrawl the names shoved away with the broken planks. Planks they hadn't needed to mark more graves, at least not yet. Planks that were ready, waiting, for their inevitable use. Rolling the marker over in his hands, Daryl thought. At last, he uncapped it and made his way back to the grave. Crouching over the upturned dirt, he paused for a minute to steady his hand.

_Loving Father_

Standing, he nodded at the words and walked away.

There was so much work that needed to be done.

* * *

Daryl stayed half the night in the cafeteria lobby with Carol. He didn't bother to ask this time, just made his way in and confirmed his intention with a silent nod. Sitting in a corner, he set about replacing some of his bolts. The hours dragged until at last Ali passed through the door. Matthew followed close behind.

"I left some extra bedding over there on the empty bed," Carol offered to the girl. Her attention shifted to the two remaining patients. "They're resting pretty good. No reason you can't, too."

Ali nodded.

There didn't seem to be much more to say, so with that Daryl moved to the door and they took their leave. Together, they made their way across to the dorm. When they reached the room, Carol excused herself to go get cleaned up. At her return, he did the same.

He scrubbed himself roughly under the trickle of water, but his arms still itched. His shoulder still ached and his head still pounded with too many words left unsaid. His hands burned with the water and he realized with surprise that just like Luke, he'd scraped them raw on the bricks. He wondered how he hadn't felt that 'til now.

Carol watched as he edged back in the room, hair still dripping and far too quiet. Settling his towel back on the chair, he stared at the floor. After a moment's indecision, he began to arrange the blankets of his nest.

"You can sleep up here."

His arms stilled at the quiet words. Unseeing, he contemplated the quilt beneath him like it held all the answers.

Seconds ticked by. Cold worry seeped into her stomach. "Daryl? Did you hear me?"

Still he didn't move. Just remained tensely crouched down on the floor.

Carol shifted to sit up in bed and slide over a bit. Pulling back the blankets, she silently offered him room to climb in.

His head pounded as he turned to her. He'd thought she'd think last night was a mistake. Some fluke thing never to be repeated. There were empty rooms in the dorm now. He'd half thought she'd ask him to leave after what he did. And here she was, still offering to share not only her room but also the bed. He wanted to; he really did. Longed to climb in beside her and fold her into his arms like he had the night before. He wanted to promise he'd never let go.

But that niggling doubt froze him in place. She wouldn't want him like that. He'd never been able to tell her... But maybe somehow she already knew.

The thoughts swirled much too fast. He cursed himself for being unable to move.

Seeing the stricken look in his eyes, she swallowed the feeling that she'd read him all wrong. Heart sinking, she tried one more time.

"It's just a bed."

He turned back to the floor and she thought for sure she'd pushed too far. She watched him flex and clench his hands. Tensed her own in concern when she saw how red and swollen they were.

Finally, he rose. For a second, she thought he'd head for the door. But he surprised her. His eyes found hers with a silent question. At her nod, he stepped to the bed. This time, she backed to the wall as he slipped in. Wordlessly, he cut the lamp. Daryl leaned back stiffly against the pillow, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Beside him, Carol turned on her side. He could feel her watching him through the dark. Studying him. Waiting. He wished he knew what he should say. Wished he knew how to go about holding her like he'd done the night before. His fingers clenched in frustration at his sides.

He was tense. She could feel it radiating off of him almost in waves as he stared wide-eyed straight above. He didn't even acknowledge her worried gaze. She could tell from his uneven breathing that his mind was in overdrive, spinning around and around their positions and whatever else had invaded his thoughts on that terrible night. Her heart ached at the turmoil written plainly across his face.

Just as he could start to make out the texture of the ceiling above him, Carol half rose up on her elbow. She blinked at him in the dark, then shifted closer. When he didn't react she kept kept going, lowering her head to rest on his shoulder. Incrementally, her weight settled against his side. Somehow, his arm found its way under her form and curled carefully around her back.

She listened to him breathe there in the dark. Could hear his heart pound with her ear next to his chest. Felt him tense, then slowly relax. Turned the way she was with her head facing their feet, Carol couldn't read his face. But he hadn't pushed her away. Hadn't run for the door. And the tentative hand he kept at her back made her brave. The need to tell him swelled in her chest.

Before she lost her nerve, she pushed it out. "Sometime," and her lips clamped shut. But she'd already started the thought. One she knew, with a mounting certainty, she needed to say. Something hadn't been right since the attack, and things between them were dancing on the edge of something she hadn't dared to try to define. "Sometime, we need to talk. Figure out what's...a lot of things." She'd chickened out there at the end. But it was as plain as she could manage as she waited for his reply.

It was slow in coming. His chest rose and fell over and over beneath her cheek. He sucked in a reflexive breath and she heard his heartbeat pick up before he finally spoke, the words emerging in a strained, shallow whisper. "I know."

She thought her own heart would explode with something like hope.

"Not tonight," Carol assured, trying to stem the panic she was sure pumped through his blood. Neither had the ability for that. Physically, mentally...the last several days had been too much. His heart continued to pound into her ear. She still didn't look up to his face. "Just, sometime."

He didn't respond as the minutes passed. She realized he wasn't going to answer at all.

"Does that..." _Does that scare you?_ She wanted to ask. Already knew it likely did. She just didn't know if he'd be willing to take it on. Willing to add one more burden to the piles they already faced. If, that was, he even recognized what she meant. Carol wasn't even sure he'd felt this shift between them. "Is that okay?"

When he was silent still, she lifted her head, needing to see him to gauge his reaction. Turning, she found that he'd been watching her carefully as she spoke. He met her worried gaze with an intense stare of his own. He was scared, she could see it. But looking at her, he was as serious and solemn as she'd ever seen. And she knew, by that look, that he hadn't at all misinterpreted her words. That he realized there was something there. Something that was growing by the day and more delicate than she knew how to grasp. Some unnamed thing they couldn't ignore.

He blinked before giving the barest nod. "It's okay," he finally agreed.

She started to settle herself back into his arm, then pulled away in uncertainty. She hadn't wanted to push too far. "Is _this_ okay?" Her eyes flickered to his shoulder, indicating her previous position huddled up at his side.

"Yeah." That answer came quickly, like he hadn't even had to think. His arm tightened slightly around her shoulders until her head came to rest against his chest. "I..." She heard him swallow before he completed the thought. "I like ya here." His thumb traced a gentle circle on her back. Carol found herself surprised by the tenderness of the gesture. "Don't want ya farther away."

"Okay," she whispered past the burning lump in her throat. Tears threatened her tired eyes. "Then right here's where I'll be."

She was almost asleep, about to fall off that hazy edge, when she heard him ask. Nothing more that the barest whisper as he breathed the word. "Promise?"

She could barely even choke out the reply. "Always. I promise."


End file.
